


Lonely Way Back Home

by Coneycat



Series: Housemates [8]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, F/M, Gen, Heroes Can Be Assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 305,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coneycat/pseuds/Coneycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on Norsekink (prompt is here: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/6420.html?thread=11858196#t11858196) asking for a universe-swap involving canon/god!Loki involuntarily changing places with a much saner, supernatural but not-a-god!Loki. The prompt asks for canon!Loki to be helped by contact with not-god!Loki's family, and for not-god!Loki to be considerably scared and upset by his experiences with the Avengers/SHIELD. </p>
<p>The title is taken from Kris Kristofferson's song "The Pilgrim: Chapter 33": </p>
<p>"He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction<br/>Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has the Loki from the super-fluffy Housemates alternate universe swapping places with a Loki whose universe parallels that of the movie **The Avengers**. (There will be no references to canon beyond the end of that movie, so no **Iron Man 3** or **Thor: The Dark World**.)
> 
> **WARNING #1** I disliked pretty well everything about **The Avengers** , including the depictions of nearly all the characters, and this fic will reflect that bias. For that reason, please consider _both_ universes represented in this story as "alternate." 
> 
> **WARNING #2:** I tend to pretty much sympathize with all Lokis, and also think the villain plot in **The Avengers** does not make any sense at all if Loki was sincerely trying to subjugate Earth. The alternate universes in this story reflect those impression/biases of mine. Also, some details of the workings of SHIELD etc won't match across universes because the Housemates-verse reflects my understanding of its organization from movies prior to **The Avengers**. 
> 
> Just trying to ensure nobody starts reading this fic and then feels blindsided later. 
> 
> **Warning #3** , which doesn't warrant capslock: For a variety of work-related and personal reasons, my writing time is limited these days, so this story may unfold, and also update, more slowly than I'd like it to. Sorry.

Agent Coulson looked up as Loki, Thor, and Steve Rogers entered his office in SHIELD's Los Angeles headquarters. 

"Close the door behind you," he ordered, then gestured for the three to seat themselves. When they had, he went on, "We need to talk about this business with the television show next week."

"What of it?" asked Thor. "It was our understanding that SHIELD wishes for us to make this appearance."

Coulson managed to remain impassive and yet simultaneously pull a disgruntled face-- Loki found it fascinating, how he could do so-- before replying, 

"It's not so much that SHIELD _wants_ you to do it. It's more a matter of bowing to the inevitable, and trying to make the best of it. The Avengers are _personalities--"_ Coulson uttered the word as if it were some malediction, although being Coulson he restrained himself from the use of "air quotes"-- "and people want to know more about you." 

"Indeed," murmured Loki, who despite having no secret identity took a certain amount of trouble-- magical and otherwise-- to maintain what Midgardians referred to as _a low profile._

"That's the way things are, these days," Coulson said, rather sourly. 

"That's the way things always have been," Steve pointed out reasonably. "Or at least since before the war." No one, certainly not Loki, troubled to remind him that "the war" was not exactly a specific time reference on a world so prone to conflict as Midgard. Everyone in the room knew exactly the war of which he spoke. Steve went on, "I mean, I still remember the fuss people made over King Edward and Mrs. Simpson."

"And certainly the existence of mythology implies such interest has always existed," Thor added. With a sly sidelong glance at his brother, he went on, "Mortals have ever been fascinated with the doings of… _personalities._ Their adventures and conflicts. Their loves. Who among them has borne a foal-- I mean a _child--_ to another."

Clearly, Thor had gotten his hands upon a book of Norse mythology. Perhaps his beloved Dr. Jane Foster had loaned him her own.

"Who among them cuts the most attractive figure in a _wedding gown,"_ Loki retorted, without looking at his brother, who snickered. 

"Knock it off, you two," ordered Coulson, and the two aliens-- _aliens,_ and _not_ gods of _anything--_ sat up straight and mimicked Steve's expression of earnest sincerity. Loki's was the more convincing, which meant that anyone in their right mind would realize it was false. Thor's was considerably marred by the crinkles around his eyes. 

Coulson knew both brothers well enough to be aware they were mocking him but would also cooperate, so he let it alone and returned to the business of this meeting. "Now, the issue with the program is-- " he began, but Steve interrupted him. 

"Wait, Agent Coulson, shouldn't Tony be here too? Since he's also appearing on the show?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow at the good captain, Thor looked patient, and Coulson frowned. 

"Steve," the agent said evenly, "the briefing is _about_ Tony." Before Steve could protest such base treachery, or argue the discussion should not be carried on behind Tony's back, Coulson explained, "The woman who hosts the program is an old friend of Tony's-- they’ve worked together on a number of charity events. That's actually one of the reasons you've been booked on her show in the first place: this is a fluff piece, strictly for PR purposes, not hard-hitting journalism. Nobody at SHIELD wants you answering serious policy questions, or to be put in a situation where you'll be badgered to reveal sensitive information. So it seemed smart to have you appear on a friendly daytime program whose host is unlikely to try to corner Tony and bait him into saying something controversial. This isn't a controversial show.

"But. You never know what might happen, if the host gets curious and Tony gets expansive and… indiscreet." Coulson paused, letting them all think about that. Tony could be _indiscreet_ enough when he was being _discreet._

"Come on, Agent Coulson," Steve spoke up loyally, "you know Tony wouldn't-- " Common sense made him stop and consider. Rather weakly, Steve completed the sentence: "Well, not on _purpose."_

"On purpose or by accident won't matter, if he blurts out information about our collaborations with _British vampires and werewolves._ For example." Coulson looked at Loki, who blanched at the idea, and then added, "Or if he accidentally mentions the name of a deep-cover agent, or something like that. You know Tony: his own life is more or less an open book, and he might forget himself, especially talking to a friend. You three are _out,_ as it were: everybody knows who you are, and as _Captain America_ and a couple of _Norse gods--"_

"Aliens," Loki corrected scrupulously. 

"Gods, aliens, it's all the same to the viewing public. You're interesting. Tony's Iron Man, and everyone knows it. It would be very easy for him to do all the talking and let something slip, if his fellow guests were retiring or dull, so that's where you come in."

"You want us to head him off if he looks like he's about to get carried away?" Steve asked.

"Exactly," Coulson replied. "I'd do it myself, but it'd look bad if I had to taser him on camera to make him shut up." He looked briefly regretful, then glanced at the other three to ensure they understood their roles. 

"I will not strike Tony with lightning!" Thor protested when Coulson's eye rested upon him. Assuredly Thor did not really believe Agent Coulson would ask such a thing of him, but Loki thought it wise of his brother to establish what they had heard Steve refer to as "the ground rules" at the outset. 

"No, of course not," Coulson said patiently. "Anyway, that would look even worse."

"And probably set the studio on fire," Steve murmured. 

"We just want you to be paying attention. If you realize he's going off in a direction that might, for instance, embarrass Dr. Banner or Agent Romanov or someone, intervene," Coulson went on, as though Steve had not spoken. "I'll be right off-camera, in a location visible to you, and if I get concerned I'll catch your eye. Otherwise, use your own judgment."

Thor looked considerably worried by that: being himself of an open, friendly disposition, he obviously considered himself the least likely of the three to notice an indiscretion of Tony's until it was too late. Loki rather thought Thor was giving himself too little credit, and spoke up. 

"I take it you would wish for such _intervention_ to take the form of a funny story about our difficulties in learning modern Midgardian ways, or perhaps of a harmless incident on some other realm?" he suggested. Thor's face cleared a little: he certainly grasped the differences between Aesir and human sensibilities, and thus knew the sort of story humans would consider harmlessly amusing. And he was willing enough, here on Midgard, to make sport of his own difficulties. As long as he was given some sort of signal, he would ably do his part.

"Exactly," Coulson agreed. "Or if it looks like a real emergency, you could turn yourself into a duck or something. Whatever." 

"Very well," Loki agreed.

"The host will help you out," Coulson added. "Like I said, it's a friendly show, and you guys are all likable. She won't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Did she and Tony ever... " Steve looked embarrassed. "You know. I mean, before Pepper. Tony's always been pretty open about being, well-- "

"He was," Coulson agreed. "But no. I think it's safe to say she and Tony never... _you know."_

"Just wondering," Steve mumbled. Loki could not blame the captain for asking: after years of observing his brother's-- and more particularly his brother's friend Fandral's-- interactions with women, he knew quite well that what Steve referred to as _you know_ could introduce a considerable amount of difficulty to any subsequent relationship. As a bystander, he counted himself lucky his brother and Sif, the shieldmaiden who was Thor's nearest dear companion back on Asgard, had never engaged in _you know._ The resultant awkwardness might easily have gotten someone killed.

"All right, that's all I needed to talk to you about," Coulson said, standing. "I'll see you back at Tony's place in an hour or so." 

Loki was following Steve and Thor to the door when the agent added, "Actually-- if you could give me a second, Loki." When Thor and Steve looked back, Agent Coulson gestured for them to go on. A moment later, the door closed and Loki was left behind. 

"Yes?" Loki asked, his tone and expression unconcerned. His stomach, on the other hand, felt most uneasy, and he found himself hastily considering all the possible ways he might have unwittingly done something to earn a rebuke from the quiet agent. Nothing immediately came to mind, but that did not mean there was not _something._

Coulson sighed. "Calm down," he ordered, and Loki did not even try to pretend not to know what the agent meant. Coulson said bluntly, "When you're on the show-- don't start apologizing."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki inquired, then flushed in embarrassment, even though surely that did not count as a real apology. "What do you mean?" he asked next. 

"When you're on the show," Coulson repeated, "SHIELD-- and Mi6, for that matter-- don't want you to get into your reasons for being here on Earth. Make up something harmless-- what's that thing British kids do, when they take some time to travel after they finish school? Gap year? Like that. And don't get into Puente Antiguo." Loki felt his face go even hotter. Agent Coulson certainly realized the fact Loki did not even try to suppress his guilty reaction was a gesture of trust, but he did not comment. Instead, he emphasized, "Don't bring it up. Or Jotunheim."

"You wish for me to create the impression that I am well-disposed and harmless," Loki said, trying not to sound accusing. 

Coulson shrugged. "Well, to be fair, these days you _are,_ at least to anyone who's 'well-disposed and harmless' themselves. And even when you weren't, there were extenuating circumstances."

"Insanity excuses everything," Loki muttered. "I was not as irrational as all that when I set the Destroyer on my brother, you know."

"The fact you're no longer banished, and a free citizen of Asgard again, suggests your dad sees it differently," Coulson said. "The point is, there isn't any need for you to get into details about your role in events you've already made amends and been pardoned for. Besides-- when you get right down to it, the only member of the Avengers whose closet doesn't rattle with skeletons is Steve. You're not the only one who's been allowed to move on and try to do better in the future. If _you_ start apologizing for _your_ past, it could open up the whole team to scrutiny, even though-- yes, I know-- you're technically not an Avenger. SHIELD and Mi6 would really prefer you don't do anything to draw that kind of attention."

"What if someone asks?" Loki said worriedly. Obviously, he would simply lie, but the prospect of facing such questions was unpleasant. 

Coulson looked thoughtful. "The host won't. And the type of studio audience she attracts isn't likely to. SHIELD will be scrutinizing everyone who has tickets to the taping anyway, and if there's a question-answer period, our people will be in control of the microphone and relay questions to the stage. That's to avoid embarrassing anyone, especially SHIELD, not just you. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed. 

Coulson smiled, a few degrees warmer than his usual, meaningless one. "Just chat with the host and have fun. Believe me, nobody wants to make you out to be a villain anymore."

"Myself least of all," Loki agreed. 

~oOo~

Loki needed to get back to Bristol, as he had to go to work in the morning, but after leaving the office he accompanied Thor-- whose lack of curiosity about his conversation with Coulson suggested he had been given an advance briefing of his own-- back to Tony Stark's sprawling home in Malibu. (Steve, it transpired, had been invited by Pepper to visit a gallery hosting a display of American artists he admired, and had left directly from the interview to meet her.) 

The brothers joined Tony, as well as Drs. Foster and Banner, in the underground laboratory in which Tony made all his studies. 

"Okay," Tony said cheerfully. "We've gotten the results back from those preliminary tests we did a few weeks ago." Loki and Thor had surrendered samples of saliva, hair, and--as a sorcerer, this was a considerable gesture of trust on Loki's part-- blood, and Tony had arranged for various tests to be run on them. "This won't come as any surprise to either of you, but the genetic comparison between Thor's samples and the ones we took from Loki in his Aesir form are identical, so far as species goes."

"I have already told you my Aesir form is a true one," Loki pointed out, trying not to sound affronted. 

"I know, and we all believed you were right about that, but from the scientific point of view we had to confirm it," Tony explained-- not for the first time. "What _else_ is interesting is, your DNA is of course completely different from anything we've seen before, but there were similarities between the two samples that parallel the similarities you get in mammals who are related by blood." Loki raised his eyebrows, Thor looked hopeful, and Tony spelled it out: "Whatever information your magic used when it created your Aesir form seems to have been gathered very directly from both your parents. In other words, you're Thor's brother from a genetic standpoint as well as a legal and emotional one."

While Loki and Thor digested that information, Jane spoke up. 

"Also, the samples we took from you in your Jotun form apparently caused the lab equipment to go completely crazy, so, again, we're going to assume a complete transformation there as well. Meanwhile, the Aesir results indicate we can feel pretty safe in using Thor as a control subject while we run some tests on your magic. If you're still willing to participate, I mean." 

"He has already promised he would do so," Thor defended his brother's integrity.

"We still have to ask him," Jane explained. 

"But he gave you his word," Thor protested, looking upset that Jane would doubt Loki.

"Yes, but according to _our_ rules, if he wants to change his mind, he can," Jane said firmly. 

Loki glanced from her bright-eyed face to that of Bruce, and then Tony. The human scientists had pledged they would do nothing invasive, nor would they use any information gathered in these tests to, for instance, develop means of neutralizing Loki's powers should SHIELD ever wish it done. Jane and Tony, in fact, had looked saddened and horrified when Loki tentatively broached the possibility, which had made him feel wretchedly ashamed of himself. Bruce, whose knowledge of such issues was more... intimate... had been more understanding. 

"I will be glad to cooperate," he assured them, almost entirely truthfully. He knew that Tony could be numbered among his friends, as, he hoped, could Jane. He and Bruce were not what could be termed "close," but there was mutual liking and a certain understanding between them, which might indeed develop into true friendship. Of course he could trust them.

"Really, I am happy to be part of your studies," Loki repeated, more sincerely this time. Bruce smiled in a way Loki found reassuring.

"Now," Tony said, enthusiasm bubbling in his voice, "we've talked about it, Jane and Bruce and I, and what we'd like to do today is measure some basic things like your blood pressure and respiration and temperature, so we have some comparisons for later while you cast magic. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed. 

"Great," Tony said cheerfully, and then his look went briefly penetrating as he added, "Since we don't really know what we're doing at this point, we figure we'll start with baby steps. Once we've examined the first sets of results and talked them over with you, you can decide whether you want to continue to participate. You can stop us at any time, okay? We won't pester you, or try to make you change your mind."

"But I have _pledged-- "_ Loki began again, a little bewildered by Tony's and Jane's insistence on this point. 

"You've agreed to indulge our curiosity," Bruce spoke up, "about something that's extremely important and very personal to you. But there's a thing in science called _informed consent,_ remember we talked about it?" Loki nodded. "That means that you, as the volunteer, always have the right to know exactly what's going on, and you can withdraw your consent at any time and for any reason."

"You mean a _good_ reason, do you not?" Loki asked. 

_"Any_ reason is a good reason," Bruce said firmly. "If you find the process uncomfortable, or embarrassing, or a little scary, or if you think we're being too nosy or you just get bored -- "

"If there's a Formula One race on television, and you want to go watch it instead," Tony chipped in, with a glance at the McLaren Racing Group logo on the chest of Loki's t-shirt. 

"Right. Any reason at all. Including to reassure yourself that we really will stop when you tell us to," Bruce said. 

"You seem to believe I do not trust you," Loki protested, feeling his face flame. He did not look at Thor, not eager to see his brother's reaction to such implied insults to the honour of his friends.

Bruce shrugged. "If you didn't trust us, I very much doubt we'd be here in the first place. But even if we don't know anything about magic, we _do_ understand that poking around at it in any way is already a bit of an invasion. We understand that you're letting us do something you wouldn't let just anybody do. That being the case, the last thing we, as your friends, want to do is make you feel you're somehow compelled to let us do anything we want to you, even if it makes you feel uncomfortable. If you ask us to stop, we'll stop. We promise."

"On our honour, as scientists," Jane added. "Okay? Here on... Midgard, scientists have a duty to respect the rights and wishes of the volunteers who help us. Obviously, we hope you'll find what we do interesting and maybe even fun, but if you don't and you want us to stop-- say so and we will. Promise. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed, feeling awkward but also reassured. 

"Great," Bruce said calmly. "Now, we'd like to spend a little time today establishing your physical norms, as well as Thor's as our control Aesir."

"If you expect my 'physical norms' to look anything like Thor's, I believe you will be doomed to disappointment," Loki objected. 

"Come now, brother, let me join in," Thor said mildly. 

"That was not what I meant," Loki mumbled self-consciously. 

"Well, if you'd like to recruit some more Aesir to give us a better control group, that would be awesome," Tony said. "As it is, we'd like to measure your resting heart rate, blood pressure, temperature and respiration first. Okay?"

Loki and Thor both nodded. 

The measurements of which Tony spoke were straightforward. There was a little trouble over the measurement of Thor's _blood pressure,_ since this required a stretchy band to be wrapped around his upper arm and the largest size they could procure kept flying open every time Thor moved. The scientists had finally to resort to adding an extra piece of fabric, attached with silvery tape. Then there was further difficulty when they attempted to measure Thor's internal temperature by means of a device inserted into his ear.

"Come on, Thor, stop giggling," Tony ordered, leaning in to read the device. 

"It tickles," Thor protested. "Also, you are _breathing_ on me."

"Will you quit squirming? I feel like an Asgardian pediatrician."

"That sounds very painful," Thor snickered. 

Tony gave up. "Jane, can you take over here?"

"Well-played, brother," Loki congratulated, as Jane took Tony's place leaning against Thor. 

After the first tests, the brothers permitted Tony to affix various "sensors" to their bodies, to take the same readings while the wearers ran upon a sort of moving mechanical path. Those tests completed, the three investigators summarized them for Thor and Loki's benefit. 

"Thor, your resting temperature is a bit higher than Loki's-- " both brothers snorted, which Bruce, reporting, pretended not to notice-- "and Loki's blood pressure and heart rate are just a little bit higher than Thor's. The numbers actually even out when you're exercising, at least at the rate we used in the experiment."

"We have one last request to make of you today," Tony said. "The box."

"What box is that?" asked Thor, and Loki, who had once read a very disturbing myth concerning a fictitious Loki imprisoned by a giant, felt himself blanch. The glance Thor cast at Loki suggested his own reading of mythology might have encompassed the same story.

"Agents Coulson and Hill will explain. Follow me," Tony said, and his expression reflected only cheery anticipation of fun to be had. Reassured, but still allowing Thor to precede him, Loki followed the scientists into a second smaller room where Agents Coulson and Hill waited. 

The "box" turned out to be a small suitcase, and to Loki's relief it was abundantly clear that no one was meant to be put inside it. Agent Coulson opened it to reveal an electronic device that bore a passing resemblance to the "instrument panels" Loki had seen when riding in Midgardian aircraft.

"This is a polygraph machine," explained Agent Hill. Thor and Loki nodded earnestly, totally bewildered. Hill went on patiently, "It measures some of the same processes as the earlier tests you just went through. The difference is, in the previous tests you were either at rest or physically active. This particular machine measures those processes when you're under mild psychological stress." The brothers looked even more earnest, but also more confused. 

"The purpose of the machine is to measure the physiological differences that occur when you're telling us something factual, as opposed to making it up," Coulson took up the explanation. "It operates on the expectation that people-- humans, at any rate-- feel at least mild stress when they're inventing an answer to a question."

"Lying, in other words," Loki spoke up. "This is a machine meant to detect falsehoods? I have heard reference to such devices in American television programs concerning the activities of the police."

Thor looked rather offended, but Coulson only shrugged. "Okay, you got me: this is the machine used by police forces in what they call 'lie detector tests.' Which is frankly a gross oversimplification, and also an over-estimation of its accuracy."

"It assumes that humans find the act of lying to be worrying, and so their physiological processes reflect that," Loki said. His expression, he knew, reflected his opinion of such beliefs.

"Exactly," interjected Agent Hill. "It's not accepted as totally accurate, and its results are not admissible as evidence in American courts of law. However, for Tony's purposes it's not a bad idea: he's asked us to use it to try to determine whether either of you show different responses when you're making something up. Tony, maybe you should explain your thinking."

"Sure," said Tony, looking slightly uneasy. "It's not that we want to catch you _lying,_ we just want to know whether you and Thor register any kind of different readings when you're, you're _inventing_ a story. Then we'll see whether your reactions are similar when you're casting magic. It's the best means we have of measuring your responses when you're doing mental work, similar to the physical work we measured earlier."

"We have no idea whether the results will even make sense," Jane added. "But we'd like to give it a try."

Loki chewed his lip, then nodded. Thor, who had been watching him carefully, spoke up:

"I should like to go first, brother, if you will permit me."

"Actually," said Bruce, "Jane has volunteered to give a demonstration."

Jane accordingly stepped forward, bright-eyed, to be sat down in a straight chair with arms. Agent Hill placed straps containing the sensors around Jane's torso, set smaller ones around two of her fingers, ascertained that Jane was comfortable, and stepped back. 

"Have you got the list of questions?" she asked Tony. 

"Here you go," Tony replied, handing over a printed sheet. To the others he explained, "We've made up lists of questions we already know the answers to. Jane is going to answer with a simple _yes_ or _no._ Some of the time she's going to answer truthfully, and other times with a made-up answer."

"It really is all right for you to say _lie_ in my presence," Loki remarked, beginning to be amused-- and also rather touched that they seemed so set upon not alarming or offending him. Tony smiled at him and turned back to Jane. 

"Ready, Jane?"

"Ready," Jane confirmed cheerfully. Agent Hill smoothed out the paper she held, Agent Coulson leaned over the machine, and the questioning began. 

"Is your name Jane Foster?"

"Yes."

"Do you hold a doctorate in astrophysics?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever gone to Gloucester, in a shower of rain?"

Jane began to giggle. "Yes!" 

The process took some fifteen or twenty minutes. It was quickly apparent the questioning was not intended to elicit the sort of anxiety Loki had seen in the television programs concerning policework: Jane was asked to confirm or deny questions related to the universities at which she had studied, her favourite foods, and whether she had ever pined for love of a vampire who sparkled in the sunlight. (Her "No!" to this carried the unmistakable ring of truth.)

By the end of the questioning Jane was giggling quite a lot, and had to compose herself before moving on to the final section-- _not_ part of the ordinary process, at least as far as the television had shown-- in which she was asked to tell two stories about herself, one true and the other fictitious. 

Jane's first story concerned her arrival at the University of Albuquerque to take up her position as something called a "post-doctoral fellow," and her battles with the bureaucracy of the university. These were incredible enough that Loki would have been inclined to believe this was Jane's made-up story, had her second not been a lively account of her role as a spy for the Rebel Alliance against the evil Empire, her theft of some plans for a great battle star and subsequent capture and imprisonment, and her eventual rescue by a ragtag crew including an old man, a young man, a being resembling a big walking carpet, and a very attractive intergalactic smuggler.

When Tony called a halt to the test, Thor gazed at his beloved in wide-eyed admiration.

"Truly, Jane," he said earnestly, "I had no idea you had led a life of such varied adventure! Although I confess myself very interested in the question of what became of the handsome space brigand."

Tony and Bruce exchanged alarmed glances, and Tony said carefully, "Uh, Thor, she was-- "

At which point Thor and Jane both began to laugh uncontrollably. Loki found himself -- and not for the first time-- wishing that Jane was not mortal, and therefore only likely to live another sixty or seventy years. 

As Jane was speaking, the machine had been graphing her responses to each question. Agent Coulson had marked any indicators of special note, and now he explained the results to the others. 

"Obviously, this was nothing like a standard test," Coulson said in his even, calm voice, "but I think it might really get at the information you need. See here, every time Jane gives an untrue answer to a question, there's a little spike in her heart rate, but we also see the same thing when she finds a question funny. Her reactions to stress or emotion are especially obvious when she's telling her stories-- here's quite a big spike, when she talks about dealing with campus IT, that must have been quite a day-- "

"You have _no_ idea," Jane assured him.

Agent Coulson nearly smiled. "But when she's telling her made-up story-- " Thor and Jane began to laugh again-- "her pulse and respiration are consistently, noticeably higher than usual. Since it's unlikely she actually found the story stressful to tell-- yes, Thor, I know, such a tale of desperate adventure-- it's possible you're seeing an indication of her interest, and the effort of making up the story."

"Remembering it," Jane said. Tony rolled his eyes. Jane kicked him gently in the ankle. "You know what I mean-- remembering the plot of the movie."

"I'd love to see what your brain waves were doing when you were telling that story," Tony remarked. 

"Well, you keep after the medical supplier for that portable EEG, and I'll be glad to tell it again," Jane replied. 

"EEG?" Loki asked politely.

"Electroencephalography machine," Jane explained. "It measures brain activity."

"We can talk about EEGs after we've finished this round," Tony said quickly. "One thing at a time. Especially since we don't even have a machine yet."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "I find it difficult to believe you would have any trouble obtaining an item of technology."

"Well, no," Tony admitted. "It's more a matter of finding one Bruce and I can easily learn to operate and interpret by ourselves. The testing is no big deal, incidentally-- you just have to wear a silly hat, with sensors on it. I'm sure you can handle that."

Loki glared. "You did tell me I could withdraw my consent at any time and for any reason, did you not? And besides, as I recall, the last time I wore _a silly hat,_ it was pressed upon me by _you."_ Loki did not address, and no one made an issue of, the question of where the idea for the said _silly hat--_ actually a helmet with giant golden horns-- had come from in the first place.

Tony smiled charmingly. "And you wore it very well. Okay, which of you characters wants to go first?"

This stage of testing took nearly an hour, by which time Loki was becoming a little restless and beginning to wish to go home. Still, the test itself was quite amusing-- indeed, it was worth the use of Loki's free afternoon just to watch Bruce and Tony's faces as they tried to guess which of Thor's tales of swashbuckling adventure were true. The penny finally dropped when, toward the end of the second story, Thor mournfully described the deleterious effect upon his character of a magical ring carried by one of the company. 

"I'd have pegged you more for Aragorn than Boromir," Tony remarked. Loki could only agree.

"In that you would be mistaken," Thor replied. "I have not his patience, and certainly not his reticence."

"And where was I in all this, brother?" Loki demanded. 

"Oh, by that point in the story you had valorously defended the company from the menaces of a hideous Balrog, and had fallen-- " Thor, to Loki's astonishment and horror, fell abruptly and totally silent, his face draining of colour and his eyes filling with tears. Loki stepped hastily forward, crouched, planted both hands on Thor's knees and made his brother look him in the eyes. 

"From which I returned with no harm done, and having gained new wisdom. Yes, I recall the incident perfectly now. Although I must say, I feel some sympathy for the poor Balrog, who was only being a Balrog."

"You two ready to switch now?" Bruce asked hastily, and Thor nodded. 

Loki did his best to lighten the mood by responding in the affirmative to the most ridiculous of the questions posed him: yes, he had once spent time as an owl (this was in fact true), during which time he had indeed become enamoured of a pussycat ( _not_ true, at least not in the sense the question seemed to imply) and had gone with her to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat (green not being one of Loki's favourite colours, he had some doubt about whether a boat in such a shade could even _be_ beautiful.) 

Thor appeared quite recovered by the time Loki began to tell his stories. Mostly to be contrary, Loki refrained from rehearsing any tales of past adventure. Instead, he related an account of his first effort at riding a city bus alone, and ending up at the end of the line, across the bridge from the city, with no idea where he was or how to get home. That was his made-up story-- Annie, his housemate, had taken care to ensure he fully understood the bus system before he ever attempted such travel alone. 

Loki's true story concerned his efforts to learn to use the clothes-washing machine that dwelled in the basement of the little house in Bristol, and how in confused frustration he had finally cast upon it a spell that resulted in a basement flooded with soapy water, and a sea serpent to do the job of thrashing the wet clothing into a state of cleanliness. 

"Annie was not best pleased when she beheld my efforts," Loki admitted, and he did not confess how dismayed he had been at her disapprobation.

"I've heard of people doing a half-assed job at a chore to get out of ever having to do it again," remarked Tony, "but that really is ridiculous." 

Loki assumed an expression of offended innocence. "But the clothing was rendered very clean, and I sent away the water and the serpent when the job was done. Besides, I have since become quite proficient in such matters, and often do the washing of our entire household." Which was well-known to everyone present, since only this past Christmas he had performed this task for all of the Avengers.

"Well, don't tell Pepper," Tony shuddered. "She'll be after _me_ to learn to do something useful, too. Okay, I think we're done here. Agent Hill, could you-- ?"

Agent Hill released Loki from the sensors, which he had successfully avoided thinking of as _restraints,_ and the entire group decamped upstairs to a comfortable sitting room with a view over the Pacific Ocean. Tony plied the company with drinks-- Bruce, as was his custom, refused alcohol in favour of grapefruit juice with sparkling water. Since he had not enjoyed his only taste of the liquor Tony called _Scotch,_ Loki joined him in that choice.

Agent Coulson produced the marked-up results of the polygraph tests and interpreted them to the company. 

"I find this interesting," he said calmly, indicating Thor's test results. "Thor isn't a particularly plausible liar, on the occasions when he tries, but from these results it seems he doesn't seem to find it actually stressful. His test results are pretty much the same all the way through, whether he tells the truth or not." 

Thor frowned. "Is that bad?"

Coulson shrugged. "It just is. And probably reflects the fact you know this is a game, so you're not too concerned about it. Loki, now-- "

"Yes?" asked Loki, trying to conceal a sudden, powerful wish for his own falsehoods to be undetectable, too. Lying had always been one of his few talents, practically the only thing at which he could best his brother-- although it had since transpired he was wrong in his assumption that he was the only or most adept liar in his family-- and he was loath to give that up. 

Agent Coulson laid out the paper before them. "See for yourself." 

It took a moment, but Bruce finally spoke. 

"It looks," he said slowly, "as if you have more of a reaction to telling the _truth."_ Loki examined the paper before him and was forced to agree: the spikes representing extra effort-- or possibly anxiety-- all seemed to occur when Loki spoke honestly. 

"Well," he mumbled, embarrassed and afraid this was shameful, "I am after all the so-called God of Lies." Which was weak, and he knew it: Loki was not a god of anything at all, and there must be something wrong with one who told lies so fluently but apparently worried about telling the truth.

Agent Coulson did not look up from the paper, but he said in his flat voice, "Again, this is an artificial test, and you certainly had nothing at stake with your lies." Which rather begged the question of what consequences Loki could possibly think would result from his telling the _truth,_ particularly in this company. Still without looking up, Coulson went on, "And you're unlikely to have gotten over the instincts of a lifetime in just a couple of years. This is kind of an interesting anomaly, but I wouldn't worry much about it."

"No?" Loki asked, trying not to sound hopeful. 

"No," Coulson said decidedly. He glanced up with one of his faint smiles. "If it makes you feel any better, Natasha and I can both make the box give any result we want. We could probably teach you."

"Well," Tony broke in, "don't explain your technique until after we've had a chance to finish the first round of testing on magic. Another drink, anyone?"

Everyone accepted, and Tony turned the discussion to the upcoming television appearance, and then to a concert to which the Avengers and their friends had been invited at a large sports complex afterward. Loki was uncomfortably aware of the beating of his own heart, which eventually subsided to a rate that would probably be taken for calm unconcern by the polygraph machine. 

He was being silly, of course. His heart had indeed once betrayed him-- or perhaps he had betrayed _it--_ into villainy, but intent counted for more than the rate of movement of blood, and he would not fall into evil and folly again. He would _not._

Loki leaned back in the comfortable sofa, at the other end from Thor and Jane, and after a while he felt able to join in the conversation. 

~oOo~

The emissary had been kept waiting for long enough that most humans would have begun to feel either anxious or impatient. The small, neat, soberly-dressed man who was eventually shown into the throne room seemed to feel neither of those emotions. He strode in a few paces in front of the guards, came to a halt at an appropriate distance from the throne, and bowed to its masked occupant with the correctness of one who has been raised at court. 

At such close proximity, it was possible to tell the small, neat, soberly-dressed man was not in fact a man at all.

The being on the throne felt a prickle of interest. 

"You have come a considerable distance to seek audience," he stated.

"I have," replied the creature who looked like a man. After a brief pause he went on, "My name is Edgar Wyndham. I come as an emissary of my... people."

"To what purpose?" 

Edgar Wyndham's eyes glittered. "We have certain... interests... which are not incompatible with yours. It is our hope that we might find ways to... join forces, and so defeat those who have until now thwarted our aims." 

The masked figure leaned forward on his throne, a gesture as much of intimidation as attentiveness. It was a rare petitioner who resisted the urge to draw back, but Edgar Wyndham stood his ground with perfect calm. 

"And what might be those... _interests_... you believe we have in common?"

Wyndham's smile was a thing of sharp teeth and fell humour. 

"Power," he said simply. 

"Indeed," said Victor Von Doom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** I generally use Marvel Cinematic Universe versions of characters as models for my fic. In the case of Dr. Doom, I confess I just don't have the intestinal fortitude right now to watch the Fantastic Four movies again. Also, I seem to recall there wasn't a whole lot in terms of character development for Doom in them anyway. So the Doom in this story is kind of cobbled together from other fanfic and a few impressions I picked up on various Internet sites. I apologize to readers out there who are big fans of Doom. 
> 
> I considered cutting or at least heavily editing the actual television show appearance, but decided not to since it provides a little background on this universe's Avengers, and also because I figure there's no point worrying about my own self-indulgence at this late date in the series.
> 
> In case anyone is unfamiliar with the song that inspired this story's title (and because I love it so) here's a link to Kristofferson performing it: [**The Pilgrim: Chapter 33**](http://youtu.be/2NAaiRYUBos)
> 
> Pullout lyric: "Running from his devils, Lord, and reaching for the stars/ And losing all he loved along the way…"
> 
>  **Warnings:** None needed yet. Except for a little melodrama, because there's at least one character I see as definitely melodramatic.

"Agent Coulson said there was little cause for concern," Loki said, as he chopped vegetables on the kitchen counter, "but I cannot help feeling there must be something, well… _wrong_ with me, that I should apparently experience anxiety when I tell the _truth._ What sort of ridiculous being would feel so?"

Annie leaned against the far end of the counter, turning a mug of cold tea in her hands as she watched Loki work. Her expression was rueful. 

"You're asking _me_ that?" she asked. She glanced down at her tea, made a face, and stepped forward to pour it down the sink. Loki edged aside to permit her to do so. Annie set the empty mug in the sink, then put an arm around Loki's waist and leaned into him as she continued to consider his question. "I don't know, Loki, maybe the kind of _being_ who feels like they always have to protect their real selves from other people. Who's learned to be afraid of what other people might think of or do to them if they ever let the truth out." She paused, and in the momentary silence both of them thought about times and places when it had not seemed safe to be themselves, or let anyone else know them. After a moment, Annie went on, "Whether their fears are real or not." 

Loki turned a little and pressed his lips against her dark curly hair. When he let go of Gungnir, and his family, and Asgard, Loki had believed himself the most forsaken being in the Nine Realms. In fact he was not so abandoned as all that, never had been, and the place in which he landed was proof of it. The little pink house on the terrace had turned out to be a sanctuary, a place of help and healing. The other occupants of the house, Mitchell and George, knew what it was to hide the truth about themselves, in their case for the entirely practical reason that such revelation would lead to disaster for themselves and their kind. 

Annie, who in the beginning had not even been visible to ordinary human eyes, had rather less present-day experience of such lies and self-protections. Her past, her human life, had been a different story. Like Loki, she had hidden herself away behind a mask of what she thought was wanted of her. Like Loki, she had been partly mistaken, had concealed herself from those who truly loved her and would have dearly wished to know and love the self behind all those protections.

Like Loki, however-- and to a far greater extent-- Annie also concealed her true self from one whose intentions toward her truly were dangerous. Unlike Loki, she really had fallen victim to the enemy who insinuated himself into her life, and so embarked upon her time as a spirit. 

Loki's antagonists, unlike Annie's, had mostly been motivated by the desire to protect and support his brother rather than any specific malice toward himself-- he had simply not counted to them. When Thor extended a hand in love and reconciliation, his friends respected his wishes, and all parties were now attempting together to bridge the resentment, anger, and (on Loki's part, at least) fear that had separated them for so long. It had begun with everyone hiding their real selves behind protective masks of their own, but of late the gestures were real, the effort genuine.

It was still being a rather a long business, but then the prior state of affairs had taken centuries to get to the stage when a final blow to Loki sent him spinning out of control. It was only to be expected the repairs would not happen overnight, either. 

That being the case, now Annie made him think about it, Loki supposed there was no surprise in some lingering reluctance to reveal anything true about himself, even here on Midgard where very few had ever wished him harm. It was regrettable, but did not have to be permanent. He simply had to keep trying. 

With that settled in his mind, Loki now turned to the other worry he had carried home from California. 

"Thor was… rather peculiar as well, for a moment," he said, as he set down his knife on the chopping surface. 

"Thor?" asked Annie, her face reflecting her alarm. She knew very well how much Thor's newly-won regard, his recently-recovered affection, meant to Loki. It was plain she had misunderstood Loki, or rather he had worded it badly, had made her believe there was some connection between this comment about Thor and his prior ones about truth-telling and anxiety. 

"Not toward me," Loki said hastily. "Or at least not exactly. But… in telling his false story, Thor made use of the film about the ring quest, and we were joking about it when he, when he referred to the scene in which the sorcerer Gandalf fell… He suddenly became very upset. I had no idea-- "

Annie pursed her lips, looking very thoughtful, and finally admitted, "Jane mentioned that."

"Jane did? When?" Loki asked in surprise. 

"At Christmas. She took me aside, sort of woman-to-woman, you know? She wanted to know whether you still dreamed about, about falling."

Loki frowned in realization as he said, "I never have. But-- are you telling me Thor _does?"_ He had known this already, Loki suddenly realized. Thor had told him so, the time when Loki had visited him in New Mexico. Loki had assumed Thor was speaking of the past, of the time when Loki had been lost in the void, when his mother and brother-- but not his father-- believed him dead. 

Annie nodded. "Jane asked me not to tell you, but… yeah. He loves _Fellowship of the Ring,_ but the thing about Gandalf upset him a lot the first time he saw it. I see it still does, sometimes. According to Jane, he's never stopped dreaming about your fall."

Loki bit his lip, thoroughly ashamed of himself. "All those years I believed him an insensitive brute-- "

Annie shrugged. "All those years he believed you never felt anything except jealousy and malice toward him. You were both wrong, and now you both know you were wrong, so don't hurt yourself about it."

"Why would you not tell me this?" Loki asked, trying not to sound accusing. 

"Because Jane asked me not to," Annie replied gently. "Thor didn't want you to know. There was nothing you could do, and talking to Jane about it was probably as good for him as talking to you. Better, really, because the last thing he wants is to make you feel guiltier about that time, or make you have bad dreams yourself." Loki, who sometimes confided things in Annie instead of admitting them to Thor, had to concede the truth in her words. 

Annie looked curious. "You really don't dream about it? About falling?"

Loki shook his head. "Not since my very early days here. I think… the first night I spent on the sofa, I might have awakened a time or two with the feeling I was still falling, but never since. When I have bad dreams they are about the cold, never the void." 

"I wonder why that is?" Annie said. 

Loki went back to chopping vegetables as he thought. "At a guess," he finally ventured, "it must have been Father's spell. He sought to, to protect me, so that I would not be irreparably harmed by the consequences of my own actions." Loki felt his mouth twist as he contemplated how little he had deserved such consideration. 

Annie looked stern. "Which turned out well for more than just you, didn't it? The fact you arrived here on earth able to understand you had done wrong, and wanting to make up for it? Stop with the guilty face, or it's the spray bottle for you." Loki, in some relief, obediently adjusted his expression. Annie softened as she went on, "So it makes sense the spell would have protected you in more ways than one. But Thor didn't have that, or anyone to talk to aside from Jane. He wouldn't have added to your parents' worries, any more than you used to want to worry them." 

"I used to want not to make them lose patience and say outright that they did not love me," Loki replied bluntly. "I was not exactly motivated by concern for their feelings."

Annie shrugged. "And they were pretty careful not to have to face the fact you were unhappy, even though they knew it, so you're even. Anyway, Thor didn't want to worry your parents, and probably not to give his Asgard friends anything else to hold against you. He could talk to Steve, if he wanted to, but I guess he hasn't figured that out yet. And maybe Steve still doesn't talk much about his own bad dreams-- we had to corner him to get him to admit it to us-- Anyway, that leaves Jane."

"Thank the Norns for Jane," Loki said, with sincere feeling. "But… but now he has revealed his distress to me, or at least in _front_ of me. It is therefore reasonable that I should bring it up to him when next we are together, is it not?"

"Seems fair to me," Annie agreed. "Just be gentle about it." 

"I will," Loki promised.

~oOo~ 

Victor Von Doom sat in his private apartment, gazing into the fire and distractedly sipping Scotch from a heavy cut-glass tumbler. His guest had long since departed, leaving Doom with much to think about. 

_"My kind represent the evolution of humanity, and we intend to take our rightful place as their rulers."_

_"And why have you not done so before this? Why ask my aid?"_

_Edgar Wyndham's thin face twisted._

_"Treachery," he said._

Treachery. Doom knew of treachery (his fingers traced the scars on his cheek) knew the price he was willing to pay for retribution. Wyndham's kind would pay such a price, but that would be as nothing compared to the payment they exacted in return. His kind were known to Doom, from stories told in the dark of winter, creatures of the shadows. 

_Treachery._

It was the old story, old as time, of one brought into their fold, trusted as a friend and comrade _(Richards)_ who then turned betrayer. Allied himself with the enemy, with creatures who connived at the destruction of their rightful masters, with a powerful near-immortal whose loyalties should have been recruited to Wyndham's banner. Faithless, treacherous, deceitful…

The tumbler cracked in his grip, and Doom set it down on the table at his elbow. 

_"They are as cattle," said Edgar Wyndham, "and we shall be their masters."_

_And who,_ Doom now thought, _will rule the rulers?_

He picked up his cracked tumbler and gazed through it, thoughtfully, at the flames.

~oOo~

The following week, Loki and his friends made several trials of his ability to guide them together through the branches of Yggdrasil. In the past, when Loki went world-walking he went on his own-- even had he been inclined in the old days to invite his brother or Thor's friends on such excursions, they would have been unlikely to trust him. Annie was a different story, and had been his first companion on his travels, but as a ghost she had presented little difficulty. Adding a full-sized werewolf and vampire to the party was another matter, particularly considering the low levels of ambient magic present on Midgard. 

They could, of course, have asked Tony to send an aircraft for them, as he was nothing if not generous. Flying in that way from Bristol to Malibu would, of course, have taken quite some time. It would also have led to the potentially risky situation of attempting to navigate airports and international borders as a party consisting in part of a ghost and a vampire. Tony had understood the difficulties when they were spelled out to him during a Skype conversation. Indeed, he had looked rather wistful when Loki explained his plan, which was endorsed by Director Fury-- who had little desire to expose any of his valuable British associates to border authorities.

Loki and his friends, under a glamour, made several short hops around Bristol-- from home to the train station, from there to the library-- to ensure everyone grasped the principles involved. Then, the night before the taping of the show, they delivered the spare house keys to their friend Agnes Scott, who had agreed to care for their pets. Then they all joined hands, and Loki led them into the branches of Yggdrasil. 

They emerged in the large, bright sitting room of Tony's Malibu house, causing their host to yelp in surprise and drop a glass of Scotch. Loki reached out with hasty sorcery to catch the heavy glass tumbler before it hit the marble floor. The tumbler righted itself in the air and floated back to Tony. It did not even spill any of the amber liquid.

"Christ, Loki," Tony said, clutching his arc reactor with one hand as he accepted his drink back with the other. "Can't you give a person a _warning_ before you do something like that? Tinkle a little silver bell, or something? Good to see you all," he went on in the same breath, breaking into a warm smile. "Can I offer you a drink?"

The next few moments were occupied with greetings between Loki, his housemates, and the assembled Avengers. After this they were shown to the bedchambers they would occupy. Loki and Annie's was bright and airy, with glass doors that opened upon a balcony commanding a view of the Pacific. Loki glanced around, trying to keep a question off his face, but Tony saw it. 

"This isn't the room we put you in, that time," his host said quickly. "That one's at the end of the hall, and it doesn't have a balcony." Tony hesitated. "Do you want to see it?"

Loki opened his mouth to demur, to say it was unnecessary-- and then heard himself replying, "If you would not mind."

Tony led the way down the hall and opened a door. Loki and Annie peered inside, to find a perfectly innocuous guest room, well-appointed and clean, with dark furniture and white linens. Loki edged through the door, stood inside for a moment, heart hammering. 

"This is the room you brought me to," he said unnecessarily, mostly to break the silence. "After… SHIELD."

"Yes," Tony replied, and after a brief hesitation went on, "And… and locked you up in, when you woke up and tried to escape." _I'm so sorry_ was not uttered, but it was there to be heard. 

"After you rescued me from SHIELD," Loki repeated. "Or rather, from the creatures who had secretly taken control of SHIELD, and who captured and tortured me. I could not understand what was happening, was not in my right mind when I woke, and so I tried to escape. There is no telling what harm I might have come to, if you and the other Avengers had not contained me." 

Tony said nothing, no more did Annie, and Loki continued to look around the room. After a moment he went a pace more toward the centre of the floor. 

Now he was inside, he remembered a little. He had been restrained, and Thor had stood here, where Loki did now-- though Loki had not recognized him, not then-- making noises Loki could not understand, had been unable to realize were meant to comfort and reassure. Then he had held Loki engulfed in his huge arms while Pepper Potts had done something incomprehensible to his shackled wrist. A moment later, Loki had been free-- terrified and irrational, but free, and just capable of realizing it was really Thor who had freed him. 

Thor had released him from the shackle, but Tony had rescued him from SHIELD, though he had been too far gone to realize it. Tony, though he hardly knew Loki at the time, had worried for him, had feared some connection between Loki's disappearance and the confiscation by SHIELD of a piece of technology designed to confine magic. Tony had investigated, asked Agent Coulson for assistance, and when they learned what was being done to him they had wasted no time in coming to his rescue. 

Loki could vaguely remember being terrified in this room, but more than that he now could feel the emotion most appropriate to the whole incident. He turned to Tony. 

"I cannot remember whether I ever thanked you, for all you did for me at that time-- " Tony made a deprecating, embarrassed gesture, but Loki was not to be gainsaid. "I should have expressed my gratitude long ago. Thank you."

Blushing, Tony mumbled, "Glad to do it. And that there was something I _could_ do, after everything."

"You bore no blame for what happened to me," Loki reminded him. "But I am very glad you were so willing to come to my assistance." Undeserving as he was, Tony had provided help to him, again and again. Loki smiled at his friend. "Thank you for letting me see this room. And for everything else."

"You're welcome," Tony muttered, and led them back down the hall to join the others. 

When they returned to the sitting room, they discovered most of the group had gathered on the sofas and were engaged in a lively discussion of the concert they were all to attend the night after the taping of the program.

"How can you _possibly_ never have heard of Bruce Springsteen?" Clint was demanding of Steve. "You're _Captain America."_

"I don't know-- maybe because I spent the last seventy years in a deep freeze?" Steve retorted. It did Loki's heart good, to hear the captain refer so lightly to his icy imprisonment. Steve went on, "And it's not like I've been making a study of modern music since I woke up. There's a whole lot of it that's news to me."

"It's true," Tony remarked in amusement. "Just last week he discovered this great singer called Elvis Presley. I'm sure he's going to have a big career."

Loki had no idea what the Midgardians found so funny, but Steve's face became very red as the others laughed. 

"Well," Steve muttered, "I don't know any of the musicians you all like. Bucky and I used to go out to bars sometimes when there was live music, but I suppose nobody nowadays has ever heard of the singers we liked." He looked regretful. "Which really is too bad. I remember a blues player who was wonderful-- called himself Lead Belly. He'd play sometimes with a folk singer from Oklahoma, a guy named Woody Guthrie. I wish you could have heard those guys." Catching sight of Clint's open-mouthed expression, Steve broke off. "What?"

"Did you say _Lead Belly?"_ Clint asked, rather faintly. 

Steve nodded, clearly aggravated at this mockery. "Obviously that wasn't his real name, it was just what he called himself. His name was actually-- "

"Huddie Ledbetter," Tony chipped in, also looking rather stunned. "You _saw_ him?"

 _"And_ Woody Guthrie?" Clint added. "In _person?"_

"Yes," said Steve. It was apparent from his expression that he had begun to understand his friends were not making sport of him after all, but he was still confused. "They used to play at different places around Harlem. The first time I heard Guthrie, he'd just written a new song I really liked, sort of a response to Irving Berlin's 'God Bless America'-- "

"'This Land Is Your Land,'" Clint interrupted.

"Yes," said Steve. "You've heard of it?"

Clint stared at the captain for a long wordless moment, and then blurted, "Can I _touch_ you?"

The whole thing was very mysterious, but Clint did not seem to be making an improper suggestion. And it was clear that Steve had somehow redeemed himself with reference to his knowledge of Midgardian music. Resolving to ask Mitchell to explain it all later-- Mitchell seemed to know the same bards as Clint-- Loki caught his brother's eye and inclined his head toward the glass doors leading to the balcony outside. Thor, having no knowledge of and little interest in Midgardian musicians, followed Loki outside.

By now it was evening, and a breeze had begun to blow from the sea toward the shore, carrying with it the smell of salt water and the cries of seagulls. Loki walked to the low glass wall that ensured no one fell. Resting his hands on it, he leaned forward to look down. Behind him, Thor moved restlessly, and Loki wondered exactly how long he had been ignoring his brother's obvious discomfort on this front. Although, of course, there were few enough opportunities for Loki to lean over steep drops in the course of his usual life in Bristol. 

"Has Agent Coulson spoken to you any further about curbing Tony's enthusiasm tomorrow?" Loki asked casually. 

Thor shook his head. "No, but Jane showed me recordings, on the computer, of the program on which we are to appear. I believe Coulson is correct in his belief its host will not seek to discompose anyone. She seems a very pleasant mortal indeed."

"That is good," Loki said. Leaned out again, saying, "I wonder if Tony ever sees sea animals from this vantage point? I would very much like to see a whale." Thor moved closer, not leaning on the wall but near enough Loki to seize him if anything gave way. 

Without looking at him, Loki said conversationally, "I never dream of falling." He sensed Thor going very still beside him, and went on quietly, "You would expect such an experience to haunt my sleep, but it never does. I dream of being cold and alone, sometimes when I am anxious. And of, of the things I did to you and to Jotunheim-- although less often lately-- but never about my fall. I have a theory about that, brother."

"Oh?" Thor prompted, edging a little closer. Loki turned his head to smile at him. 

"Yes. It seemed, when I let go, that I was losing everything: my home, my family, my…self. And yet, what actually happened instead was that I was given everything: a new home, the chance to make amends and try to repair the harm I had done to those I love, the chance to create a new self who can do more than hurt and be hurt, who is capable of choosing right and thinking of others, at least some of the time. 

"I was afraid when I was falling, at first. And I do not deny the scouring was unpleasant, at least until I got used to it. But mostly it was strangely peaceful, except for the grief and regret I had brought upon myself. And the results were… far more than I deserved, or could ever have hoped for. It was Father's attempt to save me from my own folly. It turned out to be the best thing that ever could have happened to me." Loki's mouth suddenly twisted into an involuntary grimace as he went on, "After the things I did, I did not _deserve_ to be… any of it. I should have, should have… but instead of what I deserved, Father gave me… let me… Do not be distressed by my fall, brother. Please. I can see it was a terrible thing for you to witness and to think about, but it also led me directly to every happiness I now possess, including the ability to appreciate your value as you deserve."

Thor said nothing, but put a big hand on Loki's shoulder. Loki reached up to pat it, and the brothers stood for a while, looking over the sea. 

~oOo~

The following morning Tony was to drive himself and the other participants to the television studio for the "taping." At breakfast, he reiterated a prior invitation to Loki's housemates to attend the event with them. 

"You could hang out with Coulson, if you'd rather not be in the audience," he suggested. 

"If we'd rather not make the viewing public wonder why there are two empty chairs in the audience, you mean," Mitchell said cheerfully, as he served scrambled eggs to George and Loki. "Thanks, Tony, but we're already pushing our luck by coming to the concert, without risking some sort of backstage camera action at a television studio."

"Do you really think the concert is too much of a risk?" Loki asked. "We could go home this afternoon, if you prefer."

All three of Loki's housemates looked horrified at the suggestion. 

"Oh, no," George said firmly. "We're _definitely_ going to see Springsteen."

"If there's time between the taping and the concert, someone is going to have to explain 'Springsteen' to me," Steve remarked, as he helped himself to eggs. 

"He's the most overrated rock star on the planet," Tony said helpfully, with a sly glance at Clint. 

Clint pointed a knife at him. "Fighting words, Tin Man." 

"Eggs, Clint?" Pepper offered cheerfully, holding out the serving dish. 

~oOo~

Thor was correct in his assessment of the television host: she was indeed a most pleasant mortal, a slender woman with very short blond hair and very bright blue eyes, wearing trousers, a casual shirt, and bright-red canvas shoes. 

"Hi, I'm Ellen," she said, embracing Tony and turning to the other three with a friendly smile. "I'm really glad to have you on the show." There was something familiar about her voice, Loki thought, but he could not for the moment place where he had heard it. "I think we're all going to have a lot of fun today."

"I hope so," Steve said courteously. Then he looked hesitant. "There's something about your voice. I feel like I should know it."

"I, too," Loki spoke up. "And I apologize, but I am quite sure I have not seen your program before."

Ellen smiled and said lightly, "Well, have you seen _Finding Nemo?"_ Her tone made it clear this was a joke. 

Loki's eyes widened. "Yes. _Yes._ You were-- ?"

"The blue fish!" Steve blurted, looking delighted. "Dory!"

"Steve is interested in animation," Loki explained. "I… just liked the story."

Ellen stared at them, and then broke into a wide smile. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun today."

~oOo~

Ordinarily, Doom would not concern himself with anything so trivial as a _television program_. However, he made a point of keeping track of the activities of his enemies-- the _Fantastic Four,_ the _Avengers_ (such self-aggrandizing appellations!)-- and was ever alert for changes to routines, any sign of weakness. 

It was hardly surprising the fools were willing to demean themselves in such a fashion, acting as mountebanks for the amusement of the rabble. Ordinarily, he would have ignored the event. However, the meeting with Edgar Wyndham had been most interesting, providing as it did the name of not only the traitor, John Mitchell, but also of his collaborator, one who should have known such capers were beneath him. Who should have been the ally of those deserving of power over the mortal insects. 

Victor Von Doom was familiar with mythology, of course. Now he gazed into his scrying bowl, to see both the ridiculous _superheroes_ and also the creature who should have been their enemy, should have been sworn to oppose them and their ridiculous workings:

Sly One.

Most-Cunning.

Father of Strife. 

Breaker of Worlds. 

Loki, God of Mischief. 

~oOo~

There was always interest in tickets to this program, but when the rumour went around that Iron Man was scheduled as a guest, naturally demand rose exponentially. By the time Captain America and the two Norse demigods were confirmed as joining him, the audience was already set. Most of the ticket-holders were first-timers, and so did not question the unusually large number of production assistants moving purposefully about, with Bluetooth devices in their ears. Everyone apart from the audience members was, of course, quite aware the "production assistants" were actually nothing of the sort. 

The host, this Ellen, was patient with the intruders and retained her friendly demeanour. However, she was very firm that no "security issues" be permitted to interfere with the fun had by her audience. 

"I get that you need to maintain a certain amount of control here," she told Agent Coulson backstage, "but I really don't think four superheroes are in a whole lot of danger from a bunch of tourists from Nebraska and Idaho. So if you don't mind, I'll be running my show the way I run my show. All right?" Agent Coulson politely bowed to the apparently-inevitable, then took up a station just off-camera and out of Ellen's direct line of sight but in that of Loki and the others. The production assistants were less obtrusive, if no less vigilant. 

~oOo~

_Mountebanks. Clowns. Fools._

Doom watched in the scrying bowl as the human woman prattled at the dolts hanging on her words. A few jokes, some foolish dancing, and then the introduction of her _guests._ Tony Stark, dark and oily, in a suit whose tailoring would not have disgraced Doom himself. A moment after came Steve Rogers, in khaki trousers and a sport coat, his expression sheepish, little better than the oafs he was here to amuse. 

After him-- Doom could feel it through his magical conduit, a wave of such _power_ he nearly gasped. Walking together, one sunny and golden, in enchanted armour, red cape fluttering. The other dark-haired, slender, dressed to imitate a simple human in blue-- faded trousers, darker shirt-- and a leather jacket. Both wearing expressions of innocent goodwill, as if they were _interested_ in the clods before them, willing to befriend, to _entertain._

Between them they held enough power to destroy the building and everyone in it, to bring the city to its knees. And the foolish humans showed no sign of the rightful terror, the _awe,_ they should feel in such presence. 

There was no whiff of intent to take their rightful place, to demand it. Perhaps that could be excused in the golden god-- excused, if not understood or rightly forgiven. 

But the other, the one with chaos shimmering under his skin-- That one should not be tame.

Such power should not be wasted on the undeserving, and this creature had forfeited his right to it. Something must be done. 

Doom leaned forward, still gazing into the bowl. 

_Something must be done._

~oOo~

"Can you tell us how the Avengers were formed?" Ellen was asking. "Iron Man seemed to be a solo act for quite some time."

"And now I'm part of a boy band," Tony joked, to laughter from the studio audience. Loki, sitting two seats away, was amused to see how neatly he held everyone in the palm of his hand. Truly, it was well that Tony Stark had chosen to use his considerable powers-- of which his personal magnetism was hardly the least-- for good instead of evil. He would indeed have been a formidable supervillain, had he the inclination. 

Tony was still talking, easy and comfortable: "Well, the funny thing is, my old man was a friend of Steve's, back in the day." He glanced at Steve, beside him, with a smile. "He never gave up looking for him. Used to fund an expedition every year to look for his plane, actually, and we-- he and I and Obie-- he and I," Tony's expression went wooden for a heartbeat as he censored himself-- "used to wait to hear their news. He never gave up hope, you know? And after he died, I kept on sending the expeditions. By then, I don't think I really believed there was anyone to find-- sorry, Steve-- "

"It's okay," Steve shrugged, looking impossibly handsome and understanding and kind. 

"But I knew Dad would never have given up, so… And then a couple of years ago… "

"There I was," Steve said quietly. Tony fell silent, and Steve glanced at him before going on, "It took a while to revive me, nearly as long as it probably did for anyone to believe I was really… well, nobody thought they were looking for a live person, after all. I spent some time in a… government facility, debriefing and so on."

"That doesn't sound like very much fun," said Ellen, with genuine sympathy that found its echo in the murmurings of the audience. 

"Well, it wasn't," Steve agreed. "Although really, I had no idea what to do with myself, anyway, so at least tests and interviews gave me something to think about. 

"And then, about ten days after I woke up, I was on my way back to my quarters from the gym-- I spent a lot of time in the gym-- "

"Still does," Tony spoke up. "Although you'd never know it by those arms." 

Steve let the laughter subside before he went on, "I came around a corner and there was Tony. It was… he doesn't look _exactly_ like Howard, but there was enough of a resemblance to really throw me. And then he started talking." Steve, Thor, and Loki all began to laugh. Tony fumed theatrically, and Steve went on, "So he introduced himself as Howard Stark's son, and the next thing I knew he'd invited me to stay with him until I could find myself a place and… catch up with things. From there, it was a pretty short step to working together." 

"And then we got Thor on board," Tony went on. Ellen leaned forward to smile an invitation to Thor to join in.

"I had visited Midgard-- Earth-- some time previously," Thor said easily, "at which time I made friends to whom I wished to pay a visit. I was… made aware of the work Tony and Steve were doing to protect this realm, and I was invited to join them when I would."

"Even though you don't live on Earth?" Ellen asked, interested rather than argumentative. 

Thor smiled. "As I say, I have friends on this realm. And my brother lives here-- I had been visiting him before I renewed those other acquaintances." He glanced with a smile at Loki, who sat between himself and Steve. 

Agent Coulson was correct that Thor was not an especially plausible liar, but in this case he spoke nothing but the truth-- merely a selective version of it. The four had discussed it among themselves the previous night, how to speak of Loki's role within the team. They did not lie, exactly, but they certainly did not tell all of the truth. 

"Loki? How did you--?" Ellen prompted. 

Loki gave her his best smile. "Oh, I am the younger brother. I have been tagging along after Thor since I began to walk." Thor cuffed Loki affectionately, and Ellen and her audience laughed. 

However, she did not entirely let the matter drop.

"Is it unusual for someone from, from Asgard, to go to live on another planet like that?" she asked. "I mean, you're a prince, right?"

"Right," Loki agreed, all amiability. "The younger prince. Rather like Prince Harry of England, if you will. I have rather more freedom of activity than my elder brother, and anyway it seemed well to our father the king to strengthen ties between Asgard and Midgard-- Earth-- at this time."

"We were pretty glad to have you in New York last summer," Ellen remarked, to applause from the audience. Loki was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when she went on, "I was actually wondering-- in mythology, the character of Loki is a shapeshifter. Is there any truth to-- ?"

"There is," Loki agreed, and then added-- quickly, before she could mention the horse-- "although everything else in those myths is pure fiction." In the interests of accuracy, he added, "At least, it is fiction on _this_ realm. Stories travel, which means they are probably true somewhere else." 

Ellen passed over this bit of metaphysics. She also seemed to have no interest in the horse, which made her nearly unique in Loki's experience of humans who read Norse mythology.

"So you can turn yourself into other-- is it only other people, or can you-- ?" 

"I could turn myself into a rhinoceros, if I so desired," Loki replied solemnly. At his side, Thor sighed theatrically and murmured.

 _"Always_ with the rhinoceroses, brother," which made the front rows giggle. Loki cast a sidelong grin at his brother and went on, 

"I could only hold such a transformation for a short time-- it takes considerable magic to turn into a shape significantly larger or smaller than my own. The other difficulty is, _my_ form changes-- but my _clothing_ does not. Which presents several obvious difficulties-- "

"It's not that kind of show," Ellen agreed, gesturing in mock alarm. 

"Exactly," Loki agreed, smiling angelically. 

"Is shapeshifting a common talent in Asgard?" Ellen persisted. "I mean, can Thor-- ?"

"Sadly, no," Thor said. 

"I hardly think anyone would _wish_ for him to take on any form other than his own, anyway," Loki remarked, playing to the front rows, which were appreciative. And then, since there seemed little harm in doing so-- really, he was already known as a sorcerer prince from an alien world-- Loki went on, "I am actually-- you may recall, during the trouble in New York, that assistance came from one of the other worlds beyond your stars. From Jotunheim?"

"Yes, the great big blue guys," Ellen said brightly. 

"Yes, well, I was born there. As a very small blue guy," he digressed, to the front rows again. "I lost my parents as a baby and was adopted into Thor's family. As a shapeshifter, I have taken on the form of those who raised me, but I retain certain talents uncommon among the Aesir."

"It's really interesting to find out adoption is a thing on Asgard, too-- I guess I would have assumed our cultures were completely different," Ellen mused, focusing on the very thing Loki had hoped she would, and not on the giant blue aliens. She smiled quickly at Thor and Loki and turned her attention back to Tony and Steve. "Is that something the team has had to get used to? The different cultures?"

"Honestly?" Steve replied. "I sometimes find myself more confused by modern America than by Thor and Loki. I mean, I know I don't know anything about Asgard. Waking up and finding out the Dodgers had left Brooklyn was in some ways a much bigger shock than finding out there's life on other planets." He looked sorrowful for a moment, but rallied bravely: "Really, keeping up with Tony is… I'm really grateful Thor's on the team, because sometimes I feel like he and I are the only ones who are confused by, by modern times. We kind of take turns asking the rest of the team to slow down and explain things."

"Loki has less trouble?" Ellen asked. 

"Loki is more intelligent-- " Thor began, and Loki spoke over him:

"I live full-time on this realm, and generally make my mistakes in front of people other than the Avengers. Except when I attempt to cross the street here in the United States," he amended. "Then, it is sometimes necessary for someone to steer me by the elbow, in case I look the wrong way before stepping into traffic." 

"Ordinarily, though," Tony began, "Loki can count on his girlf-- "

Offstage, unseen by the cameras and behind Ellen's back, Agent Coulson hastily drew one hand in a slashing motion across his throat. Loki and Thor, fortunately, both understood this Midgardian gesture to mean "stop Tony," rather than "attack him with sharp blades." They scarcely needed the warning. It was, of course, possible Tony would let nothing slip that might alert Ellen or her viewers there was anything unusual about Annie. Still, as a target for friendly teasing and questioning, Loki's supernatural housemates were as poor a choice as could be imagined on a nationally-televised program. 

Steve leaned hastily forward, saying, "I practically had to be led around myself at first, New York feels much _bigger-- "_

Thor shifted in his chair, jolting Loki, and spoke up, "I, too, have difficulty with traffic-- indeed, several times I have been run over-- "

They were both drowned out by startled cries from the audience-- Ellen actually stood up with a little shriek-- as Loki's clothing collapsed in an empty heap on his chair. 

Not _quite_ empty, as it happened. The shirt and jacket crumpled on the chair suddenly began to heave, and to emit an indignant _quacking._

"Is that-- ?" Ellen squeaked. 

"Brother, _really,"_ Thor sighed, heavily patient, and lifted the garments to reveal the glossy green head of a mallard drake. Who quacked at him, and then fluttered his wings as he freed himself from the clothing.

"He's a duck," Ellen said, blankly at first, but then with an expression of dawning glee. "He just turned himself into a duck! A _duck."_

Thor lifted the duck onto his lap and said, "It could have been worse, I assure you. He was quite serious about the rhinoceros. Were you not, brother?" Thor crooned at the waterfowl, who reached up and gently nibbled on his chin.

"Your brother is a duck," Ellen repeated, looking delighted rather than startled or alarmed or any of the normal emotions that might be expected in the situation. "Does he do this often?"

"Loki is, as he explained to you, a shapeshifter," Thor pointed out. Patting his brother, he added, "And he occasionally likes to remind people there is more than one incurable showoff in our family." Loki fluttered his wings into a more comfortable fold and looked remarkably smug, for a duck.

"Would he let me pet him?" Ellen asked, and then looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, that was probably-- "

Loki stood, then waddled over the chairs and laps between Thor's and Ellen's, flapping his wings to keep his balance-- at least, that was what he would argue later, when Tony complained of a wingtip to the nose. He flapped up onto Ellen's lap, nibbled curiously at her shirt collar, and made a few charming little noises in his throat while Ellen stroked his back. 

Thor sighed again. "Really, brother, you are shameless." Loki quacked, the front rows giggled, and Thor gathered the discarded clothing into a tidy bundle as he rose to his feet. "This has been most entertaining, but I think it time for you to regain your regular form. Come with me." Loki quacked defiantly, and Thor looked stern. "Loki." Loki quacked again, then fluttered off Ellen's lap to the floor. Thor smiled charmingly at his host and then her audience. "If you will excuse us for a moment-- "

"I think this is a good time to go to commercial," Ellen agreed, but gestured to one of the mobile cameras to follow the brothers. 

This later led to amusing footage of the God of Thunder pacing slowly down a corridor, a cheerfully noisy duck waddling at his side. Thor asked a staff member for directions to a men's toilet-- the camera staying outside the door for obvious reasons-- and his rumbling voice could be heard: "No, brother, you may not play in the sink. It is time to reassume your own form and get dressed. Leave my cape alone. Loki!"

They returned to the set to rousing applause, Loki looking a combination of sheepish and pleased with himself, Thor wearing the expression of all big brothers everywhere when they are unsure whether to cuff or embrace the culprit. 

Thor's expression was entirely synthetic. 

And somehow, the discussion failed to return to the matter of who normally assisted Loki when he found himself confused about aspects of Midgardian life. 

~oOo~

The brass scrying bowl rebounded from the wall with a ringing clangor. Doom whirled away from the object he had thrown in his rage, and paced in his private apartment. 

_How dare he?_ To have such power, such abilities, and to _waste_ them with tricks to amuse creatures who should _cower_ before him. To _protect_ such beings, as if they were of any more value than common brutes. 

This could not stand. _Must_ not. 

_Something must be done._

And then he remembered a throwaway comment the sorcerer himself had made:

_Stories travel, which means they are probably true somewhere else._

The question was, what _else_ might be true, somewhere else?

The brass scrying bowl lay on the floor where it had fallen. Doom picked it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** I'd intended to get to the swap in this chapter, but updates are coming pretty slowly as it is, and anyway it felt like the chapter would get unbalanced.
> 
> I don't recall movie!Doom referring to himself in the third person the way comics!Doom apparently does (and I just don't have the strength to check right now), so if you all don't mind we'll save that trait in case he find himself ranting like a supervillain later in the story. I mean, that's probably a decent bet, yes? Also, Doom appears to have read mythology with his own distinctive slant.
> 
> Also--last year, after thirty-two years of wishing, I was able to see Bruce Springsteen in concert. It was near as dammit to a religious experience, and I remember posting on Facebook that if Loki's portal had opened up at a show by the Boss, **The Avengers** would have been a shorter and much happier movie.
> 
>  **Warning:** In which Doom is frankly a creeper, in case anyone is bothered by non-specific mental voyeurism. Also, heroes can be arseholes. We haven’t reached that point yet, but I just thought I should mention it.

"A duck. You turned yourself into a duck. On national television." Agent Coulson's voice was, as usual, without inflection, but Loki heard the rebuke and bristled defensively anyway. 

"It served as a suitable diversion," Thor spoke up for his brother, before Loki had to.

"You _told_ me I should," Loki pointed out, self-righteously. Agent Coulson cocked an eyebrow. Loki insisted, "If there was an emergency-- " he carefully omitted any reference to Tony-- "calling for some sort of distraction. You told me I should turn myself into a duck, or something. You _said_ so." 

Agent Coulson took a moment to recall the exchange, then folded his arms and looked stern. "Exactly how long have you been working at that elementary school, again?" 

Loki looked around at the others for help. The group had gathered in Tony's workshop, under very strict orders not to touch anything-- Mitchell of course had already provoked one of the little "bots" to chase him away from a workbench laden with mysterious artifacts. 

Bruce, who had his head down on a desk and was uttering little hiccupping noises, finally looked up, his face tear-streaked. "And what kind of an _emergency_ was it, Loki?"

Tony looked shamefaced. "I was about to tease him about Annie. He's right, we definitely didn’t want to open up that subject on a talk show. I'm sorry, I just didn't think." 

Agent Coulson's expression was eloquent. After considering Tony for a long moment, he turned back to Loki, who tried not to fidget guiltily and then, in an effort to change the subject, asked, 

"How is, how is your mother?" 

"She's very well, thank you," Agent Coulson replied evenly. "I'll let her know you asked."

Jane looked around, decided perhaps it was a good moment to intervene, and said, 

"Okay, Loki, if you're ready we can connect the sensors again and ask you to cast a little magic. All right?" 

"All right," Loki agreed, gratefully following her over to the equipment. 

~oOo~

Edgar Wyndham seemed quite at his ease on this visit, which Doom would have seen as a weakness had it not been for the calculation in the creature's eyes. Doom reminded himself not to underestimate this new confederate. He was so accustomed to dealing with ordinary puling mortal men and women, it would be easy to assume this Wyndham was on the same plane. Not, of course, that the creature was in any way Doom's equal. He was, however, _nearer_ that level than was the common clay. 

Edgar Wyndham leaned back in his chair and held his crystal goblet up as if to admire the fire through the liquid in the glass. Not a glimmer of light was visible through the deep-red contents. 

"You say you have a plan to remove the God of Mischief from the equation?" he inquired. "I should inform you, killing him will be no easy task. Despite the appellation he is indeed a form of mortal, but his magic is powerful, and his body extremely durable." Wyndham sipped appreciatively from his glass, watched the slow slide of the crimson fluid back down the side of the vessel as he tilted it upright, and went on, "Also, he has set defensive spells around the city where he dwells. Agents of mine who have attempted to… make contact… with him, or any of his usual associates, have encountered rather emphatic deterrents."

"Really?" asked Doom. "What sort of deterrents?"

Wyndham's smile was more of a poisonous grimace. "Rhinoceroses, apparently." At Doom's interrogative look, he explained, "If my underlings come too close, they are intercepted by enchanted rhinoceroses. If they retreat, the animals disappear, or at least remain placid. Attempting to get past them… does not end well."

Doom scowled-- more frivolity. The idea of having sorcery enough to waste on such elaborate warnings, and _doing so,_ infuriated Doom. One possessing such powers should simply destroy any who challenged him, should instill awe and terror in those who might defy him. Doom remained calm, however, as he explained, 

"My idea is not to kill him."

Wyndham's eyes were hooded as he remarked, "If you think to win him to our side, I can promise you will be condemned to failure. He appears far more addicted to the approbation of his brother the God of Thunder than to power over humans." 

"My plan is not to recruit him. Or to kill him," Doom replied. Wyndham looked interrogative, and Doom smiled, a poisonous grimace of his own. "My plan is to _replace_ him." 

~oOo~

"I'd still like to hook you up to an EEG," Tony said as he looked over the readings yet again, "but so far it definitely looks as if exercising your magic is the same as exercising physically. Huh." 

"I hope the results are not disappointing to you," Loki murmured from across the cabin of the passenger jet. 

"Don't be silly," Tony replied, without looking up. And then he did. "Actually, now I think about it, these readings are really interesting because they show just how… _connected_ your magic is to the rest of you."

"Well, yes," Loki said, puzzled. "But you knew that."

"I did, at least you've spoken of it, but you have to understand just how difficult it is for non-magical beings like humans to really get a grip on how that works. To really understand it."

"I suppose," Loki mumbled, trying not to think about the occasions when-- as a result of either misunderstanding or malice-- he had found himself in restraints which attempted to control his powers by draining them. He supposed that, at least on the first occasion, no actual harm had been intended.

Tony's expression made it clear he was thinking of the same events. "So those magic-draining devices SHIELD used on you-- "

"The best analogy I can offer is, it was a feeling rather like bleeding to death, " said Loki, who had some experience with both sets of circumstances. "Accompanied by a sense of dizziness and disorientation, which became progressively worse the longer the restraints were employed." He did not bother to mention the generalized pain that had accompanied the second set of restraints-- Tony already looked guilty enough. In fact-- "And if you make that 'this was all my fault' face again, I will conjure a water pistol and shoot you with it." 

"Mr. Pot, may I present Mr. Kettle," Mitchell murmured. Loki, who had lived on Midgard long enough to learn some of the local idioms, made a face at him. 

Natasha looked up from her book-- _Pride and Prejudice,_ Loki recognized the much-read paperback as belonging to Annie-- and said, 

"Okay, not that I'm suggesting anything, but let's suppose a magic user like yourself turned to a life of crime and had to be imprisoned in Asgard. Don't you make the face, either," she warned. "I'm just curious. I know a lot of your abilities aren't common in Asgard, but we all know your dad has magical powers, and I assume he's not the only one. How could a person like that be imprisoned? Would they have their powers taken away?"

Thor flinched far more obviously than Loki, and Annie looked as though she was seriously considering demanding her book back. Determinedly keeping his voice and expression calm, Loki explained, 

"It is possible to set wards on a cell, which can restrain the prisoner without affecting his or her inherent magic. That course would be taken in cases in which someone is sentenced to a short term of incarceration. The wards would need to be reinforced regularly, of course, but no harm would come to the prisoner."

"Couldn't they just sort of bind his powers somehow?" Clint asked, his tone perfectly casual and mildly curious. He meant nothing by his question, Loki reminded himself. He merely wished to know. 

"Yes, that can be done, although I believe the last time such a punishment was exacted was in the reign of Thor's and my grandfather," Loki replied, in a carefully even tone of his own. "It is effected by inscribing runes upon the body of the sorcerer."

"Palms of the hands, over the heart and the viscera, back of the head," murmured Agent Coulson, recalling what Loki had told him once upon a time.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "The effects upon the subject would be no more serious than, for instance, removing the liver and kidneys." He considered. "And also part of the brain."

"What?" asked Clint, genuinely startled. 

Loki shrugged. "We have just been discussing the fact that magical powers such as my own are not some sort of, of _overlay_ on the person of the sorcerer. Disrupting them can only be done at the cost of some considerable harm to the possessor."

"You said there was a story about someone punished that way who died insane a few days later," Coulson said.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "More than one, actually, and they are not merely stories. That is what happens when the runes are carved or burned deeply enough to permanently bind the sorcerer's powers. Magic is… alive, shall we say. To some degree it is independent, though at the same time part of its bearer. Caged in such a fashion, it will turn upon the vessel in an effort to escape, and mind and body are generally unable to survive the insult." 

"Christ," said Mitchell, eloquently. 

"I should say, this is true of the sorcerers of the Nine Realms," Loki added scrupulously. "It may not hold true for magic users from other worlds. I recall that when they were held prisoner in restraints similar to mine, Dr. Stephen Strange suffered from many of the same effects as I did, whereas his wife, an alien from another dimension entirely, was simply unable to access her powers."

"What would happen if the runes were marked less permanently?" asked Coulson. Had he been anyone else, someone might have objected to the question, but they all knew better than to argue with Agent Coulson. "Not that I'm suggesting anything," Coulson added, after a pause. Loki, of course, knew that already.

"It would still be physically and mentally very harmful," Loki replied. _Harmful_ was one way of describing the results of such punishment. "It would lead, if not to death, then eventually to madness." Which, in Loki's opinion, was even worse.

He was unsure whether his openness on the subject would be seen as trust in the others, or an effort to dissuade them from experimenting on him to see what would happen. 

He _knew_ they would not, of _course_ he knew it. 

"Could a person recover from a punishment like that?" Steve asked, leaning forward with an expression of distress. 

"It would depend on his condition when the punishment was enacted," Loki said, trying not to think about his own mental and emotional state at the time of all his own crimes. _If Father had made a different decision--_

Steve looked frankly horrified. "And this is _accepted?_ I mean, this is _done?"_

"No, not anymore," Loki said quickly. "As I say, the punishment was last carried out-- in _any_ form-- during the reign of Bor Allfather, when our own father was a small child."

Thor wore the pained expression of someone other than Tony doing mathematical calculations in his head-- better him than Loki-- and then explained, "More than three thousand of your years ago." 

"The punishment was rarely carried out even then," Loki added-- he had, for obvious reasons, a personal interest in such matters even before his descent into madness and crime, and had done the necessary research. "In the first place, sorcerers make up only a small proportion of the population of Asgard, and a correspondingly low share of the criminal class. And even when mortal-- what you call _capital--_ punishments were still in use in Asgard-- "

"Wait, they're _not?"_ Clint blurted, and then looked embarrassed at the expression on Thor's face. 

Deciding the most tactful course was to continue as though Clint had not spoken, Loki went on, "-- death in this manner would have been reserved for the foulest acts of treason-- " _such as an attempt on the life of the heir to the throne--_ "in much the same way long-ago kings would sentence traitors to be hanged, drawn, and quartered." _That_ punishment had actually been in use in Britain within Loki's own lifetime, which was something for him to think about the next time he found himself brooding about his supposedly cruel treatment by Asgard. "The punishment existed in the reign of our grandfather, but the capital version was formally renounced on the grounds of its brutality. The less severe option was formally retained, but in practice has never been used since, again, because of its cruelty." 

It finally occurred to Loki that his lingering sense of surprise that this punishment had not been meted out to _him_ was deeply insulting to his father. He cringed a little inside.

"Kind of like the way some places that later abolished the death penalty had the law on the books for years without ever carrying it out," Mitchell spoke up, glancing at Steve's still-doubtful expression. And then, to Loki's relief, he changed the subject entirely: "Anybody besides Steve and us not seen Springsteen before?" Everyone except Clint raised their hands. 

Clint stared. "Are you _serious?_ Okay, you two, fine, I don't think he's ever toured Asgard, but the rest of you? I don't know about you British-- "

"-- and Irish," Mitchell murmured. 

"-- and Irish people, but the rest of you should have your citizenship revoked." Natasha scoffed behind her book. Clint looked frustrated. "I'm serious!"

"Sorry, Clint, I don't even know what his music sounds like," Steve said, half-apologetically. 

"Over-rated," Tony repeated his earlier verdict. Loki, who had been rather looking forward to the event, began to wonder whether his anticipation was a mistake. He generally followed his Midgardian friends' advice on matters of their culture-- the librarian at his school, for instance, was most helpful in the matter of reading material-- and he trusted Tony. 

"It sounds like he's decided not to give up today, either," George spoke up unexpectedly. Everyone looked at him. George shrugged. "It's what he sounds like."

"Yeah," Mitchell said, after a moment. "That's… exactly what he sounds like."

Loki began to think perhaps he was not wrong after all, to be so interested. 

~oOo~

Loki and his friends made it home to Bristol just in time to change their clothes and hurry off to work, and Loki fell asleep in the supply closet just after lunchtime, but even so he would not have missed the concert for anything at all. It was, he thought, the first time Tony Stark had really tried to lead him astray in a matter of Midgardian life (Tony was fond of teasing, but there was nothing cruel about him, and he would not try to make any of his friends look really foolish.)

Although, really, Tony had looked as surprised as anyone when he found himself singing along to every song this Springsteen played-- Loki was quite sure Clint would have words with him later on this matter and he was half-sorry he would not be on hand to hear them. 

Aside from a disappointing lack of meadows (at a place called The Meadowlands, it seemed a reasonable expectation) and the slightly irritating proximity of a human who seemed to have a heavy cold and coughed repeatedly on Loki and Mitchell (Loki could have put up a forcefield, but suspected Agent Coulson would opine that he had drawn quite enough attention to himself in the past two days) there was little about which he wished to complain. Despite being nowhere near the ocean, Loki was aware all evening of a pervasive scent of sea air (and petrol, which was easier to explain and might have meant nothing) the indicated there was a kind of sorcery present. Loki had occasionally encountered naturally-occurring magic here on Midgard, but generally it was tied to a place, not a person. 

It generally did not flow from one individual in great waves of goodwill, leaving any exposed to it feeling uplifted, somehow strengthened, and in a curious way… not alone. 

On his way home from work the next night, Loki made a detour to a music shop and purchased every compact disc of Springsteen's music he could lay his hands on. One never knew when something like that might be needed.

~oOo~

Wyndham had long since departed to his own lodging, leaving Doom alone. This, curiously, was rather a relief. Ordinarily Doom had no objection to an audience when he conducted a working, but there was something about Wyndham that was… almost unnerving. 

_Almost._

Banishing the nearly-uncomfortable thought, Doom focused on the smooth surface of the water within the scrying bowl, let his consciousness float there, settle, and finally drift below the surface--

\-- to other worlds.

Other dimensions. 

Other realities.

The false, pathetic, _domesticated_ Loki of this world was not the only one of that name. 

_Stories travel._

Stories of a Loki born of chaos, bringer of destruction, sworn to darkness--

A Loki of _unimaginable_ power. 

Such a prospect was more than tempting-- to bring such a force into this world, and have it under his control…

However, for every action, there must be a reaction. Doom knew that living creatures did not travel as stories could. To rid his reality of its pitiful excuse for a God of Mischief, he must needs find one different enough to be useful to him, but similar enough to permit passage into this world. The Loki of mythology was elusive, but even could he be found, there would be too few parallels for even the might of Doom to capture and transport him. 

The wretched, tame Loki of this reality was easy enough to find, living openly as he did in debased squalor among the humans. There were magical wards set on the house, on the streets around it, but none on the sorcerer himself. He slept, and as he did, Doom was free to examine the corners of his mind, the shadowed places where his secrets dwelt. 

There was little to interest Doom about the creature's existence in the world of humans-- trifling concerns, petty interests and affections-- but… farther back, in the darkness, Doom sensed things that might be of use. The mind around him stirred, shifting uneasily as Doom reached out, cautiously bringing to the surface--

 _Anger. Bitterness. Loneliness._

_Fear._

Doom paused to consider the fear. Those of duller wit might consider it a feeble emotion, label it _cowardice_ and so disregard it, but Doom was wiser. Doom knew the lengths a being could go, with fear as the lash. Given sufficient time, under appropriate conditions with the fear ascendant, every useful trait possessed by this creature might once again be brought to the fore.

On consideration, however, Doom was forced to admit there was even less to work with than Wyndham had suggested: as he held the sorcerer's dream-mind in his own, the bitterness and anger seemed to shiver and fragment, dissolving in his grasp. It was not that the emotions were _gone--_ in Doom's experience such emotions were always there, in every living-- or, in the right circumstances, dead-- creature. But these had little by way of an anchor, were memories rather than present emotions, and the sleeping mind of the sorcerer offered little ground in which they might take root once again. 

They could be coaxed or compelled to return, they always could, but there was no way to predict the form or focus they would take. Confused and muffled by softer, useless traits, the anger and bitterness might even be directed, churlishly, against Doom himself. 

No, there was nothing in this one he could be sure would be of use, and he was loath to waste his time and effort. Leaving aside the composition of the mind and soul, he began to sift through experience and actions, centuries of sharply-felt slights and specific incidents in the sorcerer's life, mostly at the heel of the one he called brother. Mounting desperation-- once again muddied by those other useless emotions and so not worth trying to call forth-- that led to drastic actions, one following the other. 

A final outburst-- Doom could still feel the mind shiver at the memory of its own fragmentation-- and a long fall. 

There was nothing of use after the fall-- everything the sorcerer experienced after that had contributed to his current worthless state. The creature being of no further interest to him, Doom released it, and turned his mind to more productive paths. 

Great patience was required, but Doom was great in all things, and Doom prevailed. For many hours he maintained his station, journeying across universes along paths of the mind, paths on which a lesser traveler would have been lost. He passed from one dimension to the next, steadfast in his quest, seeking out each reality's Loki and sifting through his memories for parallels with the Loki at hand. He found Lokis ascendant or imprisoned, Lokis bloated with power or scheming for it, bound Lokis screaming in torment, Lokis of frozen worlds with minds and souls of such strange contour that even Doom might have difficulty binding them to his purpose. 

None of them bore enough resemblance to the Loki at hand to be of any use to Doom. Their minds were very different from the Loki of this reality, with little of his useless softness, but also different combinations of his other traits. Their experiences likewise did not match his, and so there was nothing to draw them into this reality, or for their dimensions to accept the one offered in replacement. 

The effort of concentration was beginning to be a drain on Doom's energy, but he persevered. And, at last, he was rewarded: at the edge of his consciousness, he felt _something._ Something broken and exhausted and trapped, yes, but with a stubborn vitality and, just below the surface, anger that simmered, ready to return with the creature's strength. The shape of this mind felt just familiar enough, and Doom pressed further, reaching into its memory. 

He saw the creature-- in the shadow of a shining figure he both hated and loved-- slighted and increasingly resentful. Saw betrayals dealt out and endured. Saw, with growing triumph, the same pattern of violent and desperate acts lead up to a final shattering, and a long fall. There was no shuddering effort in this mind to retreat from its own enormities, just a numb awareness of what had been, with the anger underneath it like an ember waiting to be fanned. 

Nothing after the fall matched the experiences of the Loki to be cast out: no rescue for this one, no monsters posing as human to offer him comfort, no reconciliations or efforts to take back his rightful actions. He was instead a fugitive and refugee, offered no safe place anywhere, passing in and out of hands whose inventive cruelty was instructive even to Doom. 

At length, inevitably, the lost sorcerer's strength and ingenuity failed him, and he came at last under the sway of a power he could not escape, no matter how his mind and will rebelled and fought. He was shaped into a tool, hammered into a sword-- but also into a decoy, and for that indignity the creature felt rage. The rage did him no good, was directed down a path of another's choosing-- 

_Fire._

_Blood._

_Destruction._

Doom broke the connection as the final act played out-- he had no interest in the assault that freed the sorcerer's mind as it imprisoned his body. He was filled with his own plans. This newly discovered Loki was superior to the present one in every way: his anger and malice were ready to be brought back to hand, yes, but even in the pattern of incident this Loki had much to recommend him. 

It was true that neither Loki was entirely in command of his faculties in the time immediately preceding his fall, though the useless, soft Loki had probably been the less in control of the two. However, after the fall, the useless Loki's actions had been almost entirely his own. Others had influenced him, certainly, had offered him a pattern of behaviour, and perhaps in the beginning he was sufficiently feeble to simply follow it. 

However, there had been no coercion, and certainly his strength and powers had long since recovered. His mind and his actions were his own, and the path he had chosen as well. With a return of ire, Doom reflected on the waste: capable of greatness, possessed of such powers, and the sorcerer chose to coddle humans, amuse himself with harmless mischief, ally with his so-called brother and the foolish heroes of this realm. 

This newly-discovered Loki, however, had been _put to use,_ and where that had been done once, the opportunity existed to do it again. The useless Loki, if captured by Doom, would fight back in the expectation of rescue, of someone coming to find and help him. Doom knew full well the idiot heroes, as well as the monsters of his household, would do everything in their power to fulfill that belief. It was both remarkable and very irritating, how a being could hold on while hope lived. 

This new Loki, by painful experience, knew full well that no rescue would come. Having been once broken to the harness of another's will, the pattern could be replicated. With experience in mind of being overpowered and put to use, and none of being rescued, he should prove far easier to… _persuade…_ even if he was for some reason inclined to resist. 

Doom did not really think he would resist: the anger needed an outlet, and the new Loki would probably not be overly choosy of targets. It was likely a being with so little experience of allies would not see Doom as such, but Doom had allies enough in Wyndham and his people-- more than enough, in fact. What they needed was a tool to aid them, and this Loki would serve the purpose admirably. 

It was also rather amusing to think of the tame Loki finding himself in the place of the other, and no one coming to help him. 

All that was needed was to construct the appropriate spells. The new Loki was at a low ebb indeed, and should be retrieved before he was too weakened to be useful. Once the spells were set, the soft Loki must be caught unawares, in case he fought back. 

Doom leaned back from the scrying bowl, cast his eyes upon the leather-bound grimoires of his library, and began to plan. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Because of the shape the setup is taking, I feel the need to assure you all that this story is  not going to turn into Stephen King's **The Stand**. Promise. Loki's condition in this chapter is partly to serve one element of the plot, and partly just to make him miserable. I mentioned characters who can be a little melodramatic. We meet another in this chapter.
> 
> **Warnings:** None needed yet.

"Loki? Are you all right, pet?" 

Suddenly aware he had no idea how long he had been staring blankly at a shelf of cleaning supplies, Loki turned and attempted to smile at Carol, his supervisor and colleague. He opened his mouth to tell her he was all right, of course he was, when he was overtaken by a fit of coughing that made his chest hurt and sparks flash before his eyes. He barely remembered to smother the episode in the crook of his elbow, as was the custom here in Britain when one coughed or sneezed. _Vampire sneeze,_ the children called it. Loki had very little inclination to laugh at the appellation right this moment. 

Carol, looking concerned, came closer, and Loki found himself backing away, arms folded across his chest and hands tucked protectively under his arms. 

"I really think you should keep your distance," Loki advised anxiously. "I appear to have contracted... something, which may prove contagious." 

"I should say you have," Carol agreed, her manner sympathetic rather than accusing. 

"I really do not know how this has happened," Loki went on apologetically. "I have not had any illnesses since I came to this realm."

Well, if you did not count the extremely unpleasant aftereffects of being held prisoner while his magic was drained away, but that hardly counted as _illness._ And, of course, it had not been _contagious._

"Well, it was bound to happened sooner or later," Carol said kindly, and still did not sound reproachful. "Little kids are real germ factories, and they'll cough all over you when they're not paying attention. Although I haven't heard of anything going around the school lately."

"Oh," Loki murmured, suddenly remembering the man at the concert. "I... I may have contracted this elsewhere. I have just recalled an incident."

"Well, I recommend you go home and plan to stay there until you feel better," Carol advised. Loki opened his mouth to protest, but had to cover it as another cough erupted from him. Carol made a shooing gesture. "Go along-- we're entitled to sick days and you haven't taken any in... well, ever, as I recall." 

Loki had, of course, taken quite a number of _abducted-by-super-powered-beings-or-secret-law-enforcement-agencies_ days, but apparently these were not counted as the same thing. Reluctant was he was to miss work, even a being as stubborn and unreasonable as Loki could understand the perils of exposing the staff and students of the school to his illness. He winced a little at the thought of how many people he might unwittingly have infected whilst traveling by public transit in the last day or so. 

"Very well," Loki agreed. He smiled feebly at Carol, who smiled back but did not come any closer to him, and indeed discreetly retreated as he started toward the door. 

"Lots of rest and hot drinks will fix you up," Carol prophesied. "It's probably just a bad cold." 

She stepped back into the storage closet-- probably to disinfect anything Loki might have already touched that morning. Loki walked down the hall and around a corner. 

Then he pulled magic around himself like a comforting blanket, and in a moment he was home.

Annie, hoovering behind the sofa (having recently become possessed of telekinetic abilities, Annie used them almost exclusively to move large pieces of furniture, so that she-- or one of her housemates-- might clean behind them) let out a little shriek of surprise when Loki appeared in the entry hall. Scamp the ghost dog, who was sitting on the daybed supervising Annie at work, cocked her ears forward interestedly.

"I apologize for startling you," Loki began, at the same moment Annie, composing herself, switched off the Hoover and asked, "Did you forget something?" Then she looked more closely at him. "Wait, are you okay?" 

"Not really," Loki muttered, muffling another small coughing episode with the cuff of his pullover. By this time the muscles in his stomach were beginning to protest. "Carol expressed the opinion I have contracted 'a bad cold.' I cannot have a _cold,"_ he protested. Vaguely aware that he was whining, he added, "I am the worst Frost Giant _ever."_

Annie's expression was one of sympathy warring with amusement as she stepped forward to lay a blessedly cool hand on the side of his neck. "From the looks of you I think it's probably flu, not a cold. Tell you what, why don't you lie down for a bit and I'll make you some tea. All right?" 

"All right," Loki sniffled, feeling far too pitiful to even try to make himself look extra-pitiful for Annie's benefit. Annie smiled again and went out into the kitchen.

~oOo~

"I'd say definitely the flu," Nina announced later that evening, contemplating Loki with her head on one side and on her face an expression of commingled sympathy and amusement. "It generally only lasts a few days, at least with humans it does. I'm not sure course it might take with the kind of alien you are."

"I'm a little surprised your magic hasn't just squashed the virus already," George remarked, from the other side of the lounge. Loyal friend George might be, but he was not fool enough to place himself in close proximity to whatever germs Loki might currently be housing.

"I have been trying," Loki admitted, "but so far I seem unable to locate it to do anything of the sort."

"Well, I suppose even magical alien immune systems sometimes run into something they can't handle right away," Nina remarked, carefully cleaning the thermometer she had used to check Loki's temperature. (She had been seriously alarmed by the result of this examination, until Loki informed her that his normal body temperature was some degrees higher than a human's. Even so, it transpired that one of the reasons Loki felt so peculiar was the fact he was running a fever.) "And you never know, the person who infected you might have been a mutant or something." Reaching into her purse, Nina produced a small bottle of sanitizing gel and thoroughly scrubbed her hands. "I'd recommend you stay home until the fever goes away-- if this is some sort of mutant strain of flu there's no telling what sort of effect it might have on humans." At Loki's stricken expression, she added quickly, "I actually checked to see whether there are reports of any sort of super-flu in the eastern United States, and I haven't found anything. It might be a special virus that doesn't affect humans at all, but there's no point taking chances."

"I agree," Loki assured her, wrapping the flowered quilt from his bed more tightly about himself. He had no desire whatsoever to inflict his suffering upon an unsuspecting human populace. 

Nina favoured him with a friendlier look than was her custom-- it crossed Loki's mind that, being a nurse, perhaps Nina generally felt most kindly toward other creatures when they were ill and in need of her assistance-- and then passed the sanitizing gel to George. 

"Maybe you and I should go along to my place for the evening," she suggested to him, which seemed fair even to Loki. Even apart from their understandable wish for privacy, Loki could not help but agree that his present coughing, sniffling mien was hardly an appealing-- or romantic-- prospect. 

"Good idea," George agreed. He made an apologetic face at Loki-- for no good reason, since Loki felt too wretched to even feel properly abandoned. "There's paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, if you start feeling too achey. It might help." 

"And I think there's a packet of green tea in the kitchen somewhere," said Annie, who was good and loyal and Loki did not deserve her. 

"Check the caffeine content," Nina advised. "He doesn't need that at the moment. If you've got any lemons, you can try making up a drink of half lemon juice, half boiling water, and some sugar. He might find that comforting."

"Good idea," Annie agreed. 

Loki considered protesting that _he_ was _right here,_ but really he was far too miserable to wish to start an argument. Instead, he curled up into a smaller ball at the end of the sofa, which action caused him to create the effect of a most cozy cave and lured Philip and Elizabeth, the kittens, into the folds of the quilt with him. 

Annie patted that part of his head still exposed to the elements, then assured Nina that she would take care of herself and also monitor Mitchell closely in case he, too, was harbouring this most unpleasant flu. Loki was visited by the envious thought that, being dead, Mitchell and Annie were almost certainly immune to such pestilence as had felled him.

Then the sound of purring in his little quilt-cavern lulled him into sleep.

~oOo~

With Edgar Wyndham a silent presence at the periphery of his awareness, Doom set the circle in which the working was to take place. The scrying bowl had shown him the desirable Loki losing strength as he lay in his shackles, adding a certain urgency to the situation. Meanwhile the detestable, tame Loki appeared considerably weakened as well, certainly incapable, for the moment, of fighting the spell-- worthless he might be, but "worthless" did not mean "weakling," and Doom was far too wise to underestimate the creature's abilities. 

There would be no better time to carry out the substitution. 

Doom took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and began the ritual. 

~oOo~

Loki slept-- restlessly-- on the sofa for much of the evening. His fidgeting finally irritated the kittens to the point that not even his attractively elevated body temperature could persuade them to remain under the quilt with him. He woke as Mitchell, newly arrived home, moved Loki's feet and sat down beside him. 

"You look terrible," he announced. Loki aimed a feeble kick at him. Mitchell patted his ankle, but went on remorselessly, "No, really Loki, you look _awful._ I'm really grateful I'm already dead, myself. I'd hate to have a flu like that. Annie," he called toward the kitchen, "you should probably hurry with that tea, or he might not live long enough to drink it."

Loki pushed the quilt off his head, turning a bloodshot and hateful glare upon his friend. He had just opened his mouth to make some really cutting retort (although he had no idea what that was going to be)--

\-- when there was a sudden, blinding flash, and he was visited by a giddy, weightless sense of disorientation. 

~oOo~

"My efforts are crowned with triumph," Doom announced, from within the circle.

"Then where is he?" Wyndham demanded, his thin malicious face darkening with anger and what might have been-- were he speaking to one lesser than Doom-- _threat._ "Prove your success."

Doom slowly turned toward his… ally… in a gesture that might well cause any to quail. Wyndham, his eyes sparking red in the candlelight, did not. After a moment, Doom deigned to respond: 

"The spell was not intended to _bring him here._ Rather, it was meant to effect an _exchange."_

Wyndham raised an eyebrow. "And this is useful to us _how?"_ He stood his ground as Doom drew himself up, but after a moment said, in a more conciliatory tone, "Obviously, we must go retrieve him." A thought seemed to occur to him. "Which means I will almost certainly effect a reunion with my old comrade, John Mitchell." His mouth twisted into another of his bitter smiles. "That should be very amusing indeed."

~oOo~

The prisoner lay on his back, staring at the stone ceiling, the cot beneath him not much more yielding than the stone floor would have been. 

The guards were changed three times a day, he knew that, remembered it from a former time when he had not been a prisoner. He could hear the marching feet arrive, others leave. He had kept count at first, in the time when his mind had been clear, and he counted thirteen changes of guard before he lost track. 

Now he was unable to hold a thought long enough to follow it to its conclusion, and the dull pain in his head was all encompassing. He lay there as images drifted unchecked through his mind: memories, the twisting shape of thoughts he had not the concentration to control.

Thirteen changes meant four full days, in addition to the ones he had missed. More than four days, then, since he was dragged into this cell and had lain down on the cot. Four full days and he had not moved, nor had anyone entered. He still wore the battle-dirtied armour, his hands still bound, the metal gag that covered his lower face still digging into his jaw and binding his tongue to the floor of his mouth. He was vaguely aware of hunger, though the sensation brought nausea, and thirst was beginning to torment him. He could not remember the last time he had eaten or drunk anything, could not recall watching the body he occupied busying itself with cup or plate. 

It did not matter.

His hearing had always been keen, and he heard the small portal in the door open at regular intervals, as the guards peered in to make sure he was still there. Once, he heard a light step, thought he recognized it, waited as it paused outside the door. Now she would be debating, wanting to do something, not knowing what. She would, he knew, convince herself there was nothing she _could_ do, and after a few moments' hesitation she would walk away. She always walked away. Perhaps, however, she would at least open the little portal and look at him. 

He waited, watching the door, but the portal did not open. And then the footsteps went away, and he knew she had accepted her own helplessness, had forgiven herself the inaction, felt only relief now that she had convinced herself she _could not_ act, that there was nothing she could do. 

He was alone. 

It was a relief, really, to be alone. The voice, the one that had ordered and threatened and controlled, was finally gone, the body his own again. He remembered watching as the body was slammed into the floor of the lavish mortal dwelling, unyielding marble finally giving way under the power of the blows, and then-- it was after his unprotected head had struck the stone for the third, or perhaps the fourth, time-- he had stopped watching, had been present to experience the blows, had lain in the crater smashed by the impact of his body and had been able to feel the pain and the dizziness, alive to the cold hardness of the stone beneath his head, the weight of his own hands lying against his belly. 

It had been wonderful, to lie there alone in his own body, watching the ceiling instead of watching himself watching, feeling the pain that engulfed him clearly, at first hand, instead of at a distance. 

He had fought, when he realized what the Chitauri had in mind for him, had tried to push them away, retain control of his own mind and his own self, they were all he had-- but in the end he had given in, as the archer and the scientist had so easily given in, and he had watched in helpless anger as, once again, he was put to use at the will of another. 

He had wanted worlds to burn, or thought he did. When one is as angry as he had been, destruction seems the best way to release it-- the green beast-man would understand that-- and the Chitauri, their Other, had taken his anger away from him to use. They had taken his mind and his will and his body-- had left only himself, the part that was of no use to anyone, to watch and sometimes claw at the invisible barrier that separated himself from what he was doing. 

When one is that angry, destruction and death seems a release, until one actually sees it, watches oneself wielding it, and then it is only stupid empty folly.

Folly, all of it. He had recognized that long before he watched the one-eyed man make his threats to the sneering prisoner who wore his face, long before the Man of Iron had pointed out there was no throne, no way for him to win. The part of him behind the barrier, that remained himself, knew that, was aware that even if he did win, he would be a shadow ruler, and the things he wanted-- childish things, as the Other had pointed out, acceptance and affection, to _matter,_ and to have control over what happened to him-- these things would still never be his: he would be a puppet king, a _distraction,_ while the Tesseract was taken away by the Other, and his army followed after. He would be left as a symbol of the attack, and the focus of the victims' rage. 

It was always going to come to this.

He fought against it because, as angry as he was he still did not want _this,_ to be a weapon, once again nothing but a tool, to be picked up and set aside at the pleasure of another. 

He fought against it, and once he nearly got free, for a moment. He remembered watching himself fight the prince of Asgard, and then suddenly seeing the face of his brother, right there before him, himself present rather than watching. His brother's face, next to his own, pleading with him: "We can defeat them together."

And it was his own voice that spoke, himself answering, "It's too late." _Flee_ could have been his next words, _Save yourself, you are needed, you have value--_ the soft light footsteps would not have paused, if it had been his brother lying somewhere hurt and in need of assistance. He had known that, believed the mortal heroes as doomed as he was, had for a moment wished he could save the golden creature he so hated and yet still loved--

And then it was as if his head was pushed back underwater, and from far away he watched his body thrust the little dagger into his brother's side, and walk away with a scornful word.

_Sentiment._ The creature who had destroyed worlds for a word of love, sneering at _sentiment._ And yet the son of Odin took the word at its face value. It could have been a warning to _himself,_ against once again allowing _wishes_ to get the better of him, to convince him to try yet _again_ to have things that were never meant for him, that he could never have…

The next time he surfaced, he was lying in the smashed crater on the floor. The governing voice was gone, all power gone, the scepter no longer subject to his control nor yet in control of him. 

He had lain there a long time, vaguely aware his time was short, his already-slight chance of escape dwindling, but he was too tired, too hurt, too relieved to move. And so he lay there and knew that, at last, he and only he occupied his body and his mind. 

After a while he made an effort, rolled onto his side and promptly succumbed to a wave of nausea as his head pounded and his vision swam. He vomited weakly, wet strings of bilious drool out of his empty belly, pain flashing down his back and limbs and engulfing his head. But when the nausea passed, he was still there, on hands and knees, still alone with himself, and he had felt relief so strong it was nearly gratitude. 

There being nothing else he could do, at least nothing he could think of, he had waited for his brother and the others to come and capture him. He knew they would not listen, had no reason to listen-- though they had welcomed back their archer and wiped his ledger clean-- not even the one who called himself brother would listen, and he had rather face punishment with his head high than abase himself to their disbelief and scorn and then be punished anyway. 

He had managed to utter one final little joke before they seized him, and for a moment he really feared he would show weakness by vomiting again or being unable to walk. Fortunately, his brother had him again by the throat, holding him upright and blocking his retching. He acquiesced to the chains that bound his magic and the gag that locked in the sourness, knowing that would be the least of his punishment. 

And then he had waited in another cell for his brother to drag him… home. 

He had finally come, he and his mortal friends, hours later, smelling foully of some sort of spiced meat-- it would have been appetizing when it was fresh, but the pain in his head still caused him nausea, and he really feared he might retch into the gag and choke himself. It was not the fact of death he feared, so much as the utter degradation of dying in such a way, under the jeering eyes of his captors. He had held himself as aloof as possible, trying to breathe through his mouth despite the sourness of vomit on his tongue, the little air that got through the gag, so as not to smell the stale meat smell and lose his battle. 

He had won, small victory though it was, and his brother had marched him before the mortals, paraded his victory as he would parade it in Asgard, face stony in his triumph, before he compelled the prisoner to place his own hand on the Tesseract in an act of submission. He had complied, there being nothing left to lose and no reason to fight: he would not be forgiven and excused as the archer and the scientist had been forgiven and excused. In a flash of blinding light and even more blinding pain, they had been hurled through space and back into the golden realm. 

There had been no parade before Asgard, no one even to meet them except for the picked guards tasked with taking responsibility for the Tesseract. His brother had gripped his arm to hold him upright, marched him along as though he was unwilling instead of stumbling in exhaustion and dizziness. And really, it made no difference why he seemed recalcitrant, not when the semblance was all about him that had ever mattered. 

And then he was in this cell, quiet and cool and mercifully dimly lit. The mercy was surely unintentional but he accepted it anyway, had lain down on the cot, and felt himself alone and still, submitting to the pain in his body and head. 

He was without hope, and it was a liberating thing, to know at last that wishes and hopes were pointless and to let them go. He understood from the continued presence of the gag that no explanations, no excuses, would be permitted or tolerated, and he had not expected anything else. Someone would be punished for the destruction on the mortal world, and the Other was out of reach, would never be believed in anyway. The Other would be seen as an excuse, like the excuses offered by the others under thrall, only in this case to be mocked and rejected. He had known this would happen, had watched himself under thrall and had known that, since victory was impossible, the best outcome for him would be death 

He lay and breathed and listened to his own heartbeat, counting the changes of the guards until he lost track, dimly wondering what could be taking so long. How could it take so long to determine a punishment? Had they decided to show him the mercy of simply letting him die here in peace, alone, of hunger and thirst and his injuries, instead of the public degradation and spectacle the golden realm must long for? 

He had not expected the king or queen to come to him, but he had thought his brother would, finally able to lecture and demand and exhort without fear of response, of words he would have to take the trouble to shout down. 

He had waited, but his brother had not come, and he finally realized the words of brotherhood, the pleas to return and rejoin and work together… those had been calculated, purposeful, an attempt to regain his trust, to placate and control. Now that he was confined and helpless, such control was accomplished and so his brother had no further requirement of contact with him, could now admit he no longer wanted it, perhaps never really had. 

That being the case, it became a relief that he did not come, that no one came. He would lie here, and eventually he would die and be forgotten, and that would be peace. 

When the light came he actually thought perhaps this was what death looked like: a light, a sensation of weightlessness--

\-- And then he was landing, crashing onto a wooden floor, looking around at the strange, shabby furnishings and realizing he was somehow back on Midgard. 

There was a cry and a crash, and he jerked around, staggering even on his knees as the sudden movement gave him a giddy turn, and then the pain hit him again. 

Standing in a doorway was a young woman with dark curly hair and wide brown eyes, and in front of her a mess of broken crockery and dark liquid. She stared at him in astonishment liberally mixed with confusion and horror, but almost no fear. 

Stepping carefully around the mess on the floor, she extended a hand and said softly, 

"Loki?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Yeah, I went with "Loki was not in control of himself during the attack on New York." That is partly because, as may be obvious by my stories, I tend to sympathize with all the Lokis all the time. It's also because, in my opinion, the plot of **The Avengers** made no sense as a sincere attempt by Loki to take over the world, and that annoyed me considerably. Every after-the-fact explanation offered by the participants in the movie for the change in Loki's personality also-- to me-- pointed to some form of duress. And frankly, the implications of those suggestions-- the idea Loki had been forcibly put to use by Thanos or the Other-- struck me as pretty interesting when you consider how frantic Loki became, in **Thor** , at the belief Odin considered him nothing but a tool to be used. 
> 
> The **Avengers** -compliant universe will reflect my impressions of the characters in the movie-- and I saw them mostly as jerks. I know I keep warning for this, but I really don't want to blindside anyone for whom the plot and characterizations of **The Avengers** worked. 
> 
> Also, you see the chapters are getting shorter. It's partly that I'm trying to find logical stopping points (and these seem to be standard-length chapters for me anyway), but also Real Life is still being a bit complicated on me and I'd rather post shorter chapters more often than long ones every six months!
> 
> **Warnings:** Whump. Also, heroes can be arseholes.

Loki was off-balance when his sock-clad feet contacted the ground. He stumbled, barking his shin against something, then fell to his knees. It took him a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits. Then, instinctively clutching the flowered quilt around himself as though for protection, he slowly got to his feet and took stock of his surroundings. 

The main theme, as Tony might say, appeared to be stone. Stone walls, stone floor-- there was a rough cot next to him, obviously the object against which he had struck his shin, constructed of heavy wood and bearing a sort of thin pallet covered in rough cloth, filled perhaps with straw. The pallet was flattened down, as though by long use. 

The only light in the cell came from a caged lamp high in one of the walls, well above the reach even of one as tall as Loki. The door was heavy wood, with no handle on this side. Built into it was a small portal to permit anyone outside to look in upon the occupant of the... cell. 

_Cell._

On first thought, despite numerous differences in construction, Loki was irresistibly reminded of the SHIELD cell in which he had been imprisoned, and in which he had so very nearly died. Heart pounding, Loki's first instinct was to gather his magic-- ill he might be, but his powers were still at his command if he concentrated-- and transport himself out of the cell to escape. 

He controlled the impulse, forcing himself to _stop_ and _think._ This was not SHIELD, nor was he bound in merciless restraints to leech away his powers, his very _self._ His circumstances _now_ were not his circumstances _then,_ and panic would surely make everything worse. He had, after all, no idea where he was. Therefore his first instinct-- to _get out_ of this cell by the swiftest method possible-- was apt to cause him more problems than it solved: with no known destination to aim for, he could only pass through the door, ending up in a prison corridor. He would still be none the wiser regarding his location or possible escape routes, and with a great many awkward explanations to offer when someone found him wandering. 

Very well. The obvious thing to do, therefore, was to reach out to Yggdrasil-- which was much easier if he stood firmly upon the soil of a realm, but could be done from within a building-- and determine where _home_ was, in relation to his current location. He would then, rather than making a short local jump into the unknown, simply climb through the World Tree itself and so back to Bristol, with a story to tell that would surely be funny someday soon. 

The question of how he had gotten here in the first place could be addressed after he was safely home. Gathering his concentration, closing his eyes and still clutching the quilt around his shoulders, Loki reached out with his magic to Yggdrasil. 

And found his metaphorical grip slipping as he reached into a network of completely unfamiliar branches. Loki's eyes flew open and his heart bounded with a return of alarm. 

_Unfamiliar._ It had been a very great number of years since any of Yggdrasil's branches had felt so alien to him. He had begun his study of world-walking as an adolescent, and since then had nearly perfected his knowledge of the limbs and branches of the World Tree. Even had he been on Svartalfheim-- a realm he had not visited since the youthful mishap that prompted his later close study of travel without use of the Bifrost-- he knew he would recognize the structure of Yggdrasil, could find his way home. After all, when first he voyaged to Jotunheim with evil in his heart, Yggdrasil had felt familiar, though his destination was not. 

His arrival in a relatively safe, unoccupied location on Jotunheim had been a matter of luck-- luck and the fact the realm was so barren. Such blind travel was hardly ideal-- one was just as likely to land in the middle of some crowded marketplace and ruin all efforts at stealth-- but he had been reckless enough to risk it. And again, though his specific terminus had been a matter of luck, the path from Asgard to the realm itself had been a known quantity.

What Loki felt now, when he reached out again, felt like a _completely different¬ World Tree._ He did not recognize anything about it, had no idea of the realm on which he currently stood, or where home might be in relation to himself. And that being the case, it was folly to hurl himself into the unknown, possibly to land in some volcano on Muspelheim and so be immolated. 

No, escaping this cell by his usual means and then taking his chances would be foolish. Loki sat down on the edge of the cot and considered, working hard to remain calm. 

There were no sanitary facilities in the cell, not even a bucket. That, he reasoned, meant it was intended only for short-term use. Now he thought about it he saw a certain resemblance to the holding cells in the palace of Asgard, which he and Thor and Thor's friends had been taken to see by Tyr the weapons-master. It had not been with the intent of warning or frightening them, of course: the group had been learning of Asgard's legal system at the time. To supplement their lessons Tyr had walked them all through the entire process, from the initial holding cell, to appearance before the Thing-- which ruled on civil matters and any crimes not directly related to the overall safety of the realm, which were the king's province-- and thence to the actual prison where those sentenced to a term of confinement would serve their sentences. 

If Thor's friends had succeeded in returning Thor to Asgard, that time, Loki would certainly have become well-acquainted with the holding cells, at least. And if Father had not permitted him to fall from the Bifrost-- 

He firmly did not think about it, instead concentrating on his current predicament. The holding cells in Asgard were rather more comfortable for the occupant, but Loki felt fairly confident this one was intended for the same purpose. That did not necessarily mean someone would shortly be coming to find him. The flattened pallet on the cot looked old, and could have been in recent use or abandoned for many years. There was no telling whether this cell was meant to be occupied or not, whether anyone would come of their own volition to look in on a prisoner. 

Loki still could, of course, let himself out of the cell and go wandering in search of assistance, but once again he ruled out that idea. A stranger appearing in the prison corridors was apt to find himself the focus of a great deal of unwanted attention, and protesting his innocence and harmless intentions was not guaranteed to help him, not even clad in pajamas and brandishing no weapon more formidable than a flowered quilt. 

No, this was clearly a time to be above-board and forthright. His brother and friends would be so proud of him, Loki encouraged himself. He would call out, alerting whatever guards there were to his presence. The appearance of a stranger in a cell that should either be unoccupied or contain someone else entirely would call for investigation. Whoever was in charge here would be brought to investigate, and Loki would explain himself-- well, would explain the little he knew of his circumstances-- and they could work from there. 

The strangeness of Yggdrasil was worrisome, not least because it made Loki wonder whether the inhabitants of this realm would even speak the Alltongue. Surely, though, even if he could not make himself understood, it would be obvious that something very peculiar had happened. Surely those in charge would realize he was not one of their lawful prisoners, and would help him. 

Surely they would. 

Loki gathered his resolve, rose to his feet, and crossed the cell to the door. Knocking sharply on the rough wood, he leaned close to the little portal before him and shouted, 

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

After a moment he heard the sound of a bolt being drawn on the other side, and the little portal swung outward. 

~oOo~

Annie, the smashed tea things at her feet, was the first to recover. Mitchell still sat frozen at the end of the sofa, as if he'd turned to stone like the trolls in _The Hobbit_ when the sun came up. 

On the floor in front of the sofa floundered a man in green and bronze-- clothing that looked very much like the sort of thing people wore in Asgard. The man himself looked very much like--

It was impossible, that was obvious, but Annie was long since accustomed to believing six impossible things before breakfast, and it was now well after tea-time. She was a ghost who lived with a vampire, a werewolf, and an alien sorcerer. She had helped the local superhero community save the world from threats from time past and beyond the galaxy. She had refused to cross into the afterlife, and had sent away the door that appeared for her.

She knew as well as anyone that disbelief, that declaring something could not be happening simply because it should not be _possible,_ was a waste of time, and also a luxury she could not afford when it was clear the thing _was happening._

The person in front of her in the almost-Asgardian clothing, who was trying to get up from his hands and knees as if he thought he needed to defend himself, looked like Loki. He looked almost _exactly_ like Loki, so there was no point in whining that he _could not be_ Loki. 

He looked _almost_ exactly like _her_ Loki, but her granddad used to say the devil was in the details. This Loki wasn't just dressed in clothing _her_ Loki would only wear under some sort of duress, probably to humour Tony Stark or to please his mother on a visit to Asgard. His hair was longer, dirty-looking, and his clothes had the appearance of hard usage. He also looked like he'd recently been the target of a pretty serious beating, armour scuffed, his face bruised and scraped, blood trickling from his nostrils and his left ear. His eyes were sunken, his colour terrible, and he looked somehow much older than _her_ Loki. 

Aside from everything else, _her_ Loki wouldn't be wearing manacles linked together by a chain so long it was hard to imagine it being much use in the way of restraint.

And he certainly hadn't been gagged with a metal contraption that looked a bit like the one they used on Hannibal Lecter in _The Silence Of the Lambs:_ a vicious muzzle that indicated either his intent to bite, or someone else's to humiliate as well as silence him, or possibly both.

His eyes met hers, disoriented and defensive and scared, and _that look_ was enough to make her forget all the other differences between _her_ Loki and this one. _That look,_ Annie had seen on _her_ Loki too, once upon a time.

She stepped forward, extending a hand. 

"Loki?" she said gently. 

~oOo~

_She knew his name. She knew who he was._

Was this, after all, to be his sentence: returned to this thrice-accursed realm and left at the mercy of the creatures who lived here? Given what they were willing to do to one another, there was no telling what vengeance they would visit on their would-be conqueror, now they had him powerless. 

_Powerless._

The manacles were only part of it. He had, of course, recognized those the moment his brother-- the moment the golden prince produced them. The soldier and the archer had objected to the length of the chain, were only half-convinced when told it could not be altered without harm to the spells it carried. They thought the long chain meant the manacles would not work as restraints. The prince knew better, and so too did Loki. 

The manacles had not been forged specifically to imprison the Jotun traitor. They were far older than that, created by the king’s father for use on foreign sorcerers enslaved by Asgard. The chain was long enough to permit the prisoners to work at whatever menial tasks were set them, if their lives were not forfeit. In addition to binding the magic of their wearer, spells on the manacles would prevent the prisoner using the long chain as a weapon against his jailers. 

No such spells existed to prevent the sorcerer taking the coward's way out and hanging himself with the convenient chain, but that was naturally no concern of Asgard. Had he not been too weakened to form intent, Loki might have considered that route, himself. 

The muzzle, however, was specially constructed, and Loki could still see the smirking face of the Iron Man as he brought it. _A little something to remember us by._ Thor had held his head still while the human first displayed his handiwork and then fastened it in place, jamming a sort of steel paddle into the prisoner's mouth and fastening the device around the back of his head. There were runes branded into the metal, copied from the manacles. They imbued the magic of Asgard into the Midgardian steel, and the human had crowed about that as well. 

What the fools did not realize, of course, was how little it was necessary: the tender attentions of his "allies" had left Loki's powers almost entirely drained, leaving him with just enough for simple illusions to frighten the mortals and confuse the lackwit golden prince. Aside from such scraps, all he had possessed for defense or attack was the scepter that anchored him to his masters. 

_Who controls the would-be king?_ How like the fool prince to come so close to the truth, and then lose interest in the question before he managed to arrive at the solution. Tenacious he was in matters of concern to him, but the Jotun raised by his side was not and never had been. In all likelihood they would never look upon each other again. 

_Never mind._

He dragged his wandering attention back to the present, as the woman started forward and the man seated above him finally stood. Between the restraints, the lingering effects of the... _persuasions..._ of the Chitauri, his handling by the green beast and the ongoing lack of food or water, he could not now manage even an illusion to confuse these mortals. Escape was hardly possible. His fate might be to die at the hands of these creatures, but he would at least do so on his feet. He gathered what strength he possessed, ignoring the pain that shot down his back and into his limbs, and tried to rise. 

And was immediately overwhelmed by dizziness. He staggered, fighting nausea and loss of balance. 

A moment later he was aware of an arm wrapping around his torso, tightening painfully and trapping one arm between his own body and that of the man. For a mortal, he was unexpectedly strong: Loki was unable to break free, and his attempted return blow was easily blocked. 

It took a further moment of confusion before he realized his was not a _return_ blow at all, the man was not attacking him-- far away in the back of his mind he felt a flicker of sour amusement, that he should be so astonished _not_ to be attacked. Instead, the mortal seemed to be merely supporting him, trying to prevent him falling. The man and woman were both making confused noises, utterances he could not hear properly past the blood roaring in his ears, but they certainly seemed intended to soothe and reassure. 

It was a trick. It _had to be_ a trick. 

And yet, moments later, he found himself sitting on the padded leather seat, shamefully propped against the man. His hands were being held in an insubstantial, chilly clasp that turned out to belong to the woman. 

"Calm down," she instructed, her own voice remarkably steady for one who found herself suddenly in close quarters with the monster who had attacked her planet. "Try to breathe through your nose. You're all right. You're safe here." He wanted to snarl at her idiocies, but with his tongue bound that was impossible. 

He could, of course, have torn his hands from her grasp. 

He did not. 

It took a moment more to become aware the arm around him had loosened, and the man was now patting his shoulder. Freeing himself from _that_ would involve more movement than he thought he could manage without fainting. He could not even clench his teeth without breaking them on the muzzle, so instead he sat, feigning acquiescence. 

"Loki?" The repetition of his name finally drew his attention back to the mortal woman. He focused on her. "Your name is Loki, isn't it?" She seemed to take his blink as confirmation, patted his hands and smiled at him. "Okay. Okay. My name is Annie, and this is Mitchell. This has to be awfully confusing for you, we understand that. We don't know what's happening either, but we have a friend named Loki-- " for the first time her voice lost its steadiness, wobbled strangely-- "who looks just like you. He was here just a minute ago, and now he's gone and you're here instead."

There was no surprise in learning her true concern was for someone else. There was, however, a great deal of bewilderment in learning the _someone else_ was _also_ a Loki. There being little benefit in wondering about that now, Loki simply tried to hold onto the stream of her words.

“I don’t know where you came from or how you got here,” the woman-- _Annie--_ continued, “but Mitchell and I will do what we can to help you. Just, just stay calm, okay?” She patted him again. 

The man-- _Mitchell--_ patted Loki's shoulder one last time and got to his feet. As he walked toward a doorway hung with strings of beads, he was muttering something incomprehensible. Loki found himself wondering what in the Nine a _screwdriver_ was.

~oOo~

As the portal opened in the door, Loki began talking as quickly as he could into the astonished face of the guard. He made no effort to preserve any sort of reserve or dignity. This was partly because it was difficult to do so when his head felt stuffed full of wet towels and he was sweaty and dizzy, but there was also a tactical reason: he was hoping that if he projected a convincing impression of confusion and helplessness, whoever was on the other side of the door would be more inclined to help him. It was hardly manipulation, Loki reasoned, when it was all true. 

"Please listen to me. I need your help. My name is Loki, I come from a city called Bristol, in the realm of Midgard-- which you may call Earth-- and I seem to be the victim of some kind of magical mishap. I have no idea how I came to be here, but I swear to you I mean no harm. I just, I would like to find my way home, and if you can tell me where we are, it would be of great assistance-- "

All of this came out in such a rush that Loki was overtaken by a fit of coughing, which he hastily muffled in the crook of his elbow. As he ducked his head to do so, he heard the portal snap shut above his head. Horrified, Loki pounded on the door again, trying to catch his breath enough to call out. 

"Come back! Please come back-- "

And then he was silenced by another coughing spell that made his stomach muscles hurt and his head ring. Even so, from the other side of the door, Loki could hear voices:

"-- happened?"

"I don't know. He's gotten the muzzle off somehow. I don't-- "

"We should tell the prince."

"We've _been_ telling the prince-- "

"Yes, but now he will have to listen, with the Allfather still away from the realm. You, go and find the prince. Tell him there has been a change with his brother and, and he must come and see for himself. The rest of us will stay, in case he has the manacles off, and tries to escape."

Loki leaned on the door, head spinning, trying to take in what he had just heard. The prince? The Allfather? _His brother?_

Manacles and a muzzle. 

What in the Nine was going on, and what had the prisoner in this cell done? And why did no one seem to realize the person in this cell was not the one who was supposed to be here?

Panic began to well up again, and Loki had some difficulty mastering it this time. 

Then he went quietly to the cot at the back of the cell. He sat down on the edge of it, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and waited.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** I've said this story won't include any plot or incidents from **Thor: The Dark World**. However, the Thor and the Asgard portrayed in that movie were considerably different from the one I've created in the Housemates universe, so please feel free to use them as your mental model for the Asgard in which Housemates!Loki finds himself. The poor dear. 
> 
> Also, it's been slow going recently. I've mentioned that real life, in the form of an injury to my horse, has been kicking my arse. Recently she developed a complex of symptoms that turned out to be cancer (which may have been related to the injury--it could have been caused by weakened tissue, or resulted from healing cells going rogue.) The upshot is, I had to have her euthanized on January 8th. I'm doing okay (everyone around me was more than kind to both my mare and myself) but I didn't get a lot of writing done for a week or so. Then one of my cats got sick during the late stages of writing this chapter and has been in and out of the hospital, so it's been a little hard to concentrate lately.
> 
> **Warnings:** A small amount of whump. I kind of feel whumpy right now. But, I must also add, even more committed to happy endings wherever possible. 
> 
> Also, Some Heroes Are Arseholes finally comes into play.

When Mitchell returned from the kitchen, he was carrying an instrument with a barrel-shaped handle, a narrow shaft, and at the end a flattened blade that, to Loki's eyes, bore a suspicious resemblance to the sort of knife used by leather workers to thin the edge of a hide.

"Hey, hey, it's all right, calm down," Mitchell exclaimed, stepping backward hastily as Loki tore his hands from Annie's and stumbled to his feet. He was blowing through his nostrils like a terrified horse as he tried to catch his breath, spatters of blood dripping from his nose to trickle over the steel muzzle. 

Annie extended her hands, demonstrating their emptiness and, without taking her eyes from Loki's face, said quietly, 

"Mitchell. Put down the screwdriver." Mitchell, who had also raised his hands, glanced at the instrument on which he had instinctively tightened his grip, and then back at Annie in obvious confusion. Annie repeated, "Put it down. The screwdriver. There, on the coffee table." 

Mitchell obeyed, then backed away at Annie's direction. Loki glanced at her, suspicion radiating from his tense body and narrowed eyes, then looked toward the screwdriver. He seemed to be calculating whether he could snatch the tool before Annie, who was much closer, could reach it. 

Annie didn't move, nor did her calm expression change. "It's not a weapon. We're not going to do anything to hurt you. That's a screwdriver, we use it to unfasten things. Mitchell is going to take that muzzle apart so we can get it off you." Something flickered across Loki's face, almost too briefly to catch. Annie, however, was rather an expert at reading expressions on faces belonging to Lokis. "You don't think we can," she stated. Loki blinked, and then the surprise was gone, submerged under a wave of sham indifference. "Well, we're going to try. If this doesn't work we'll just try something else. Okay?" Loki's eyes flicked away from her face. Annie said calmly, "If you want to take a closer look at it, go ahead."

This time Loki did look directly at her, apparently seeking treachery and finding none. He snatched up the screwdriver, glancing from Annie to Mitchell and back, as though for any sign of protest or nervousness. Again, he found none. He made a half-hearted feint at Annie, as if to demonstrate the screwdriver could indeed be put to use as a weapon if one was of a mind to do so. When she held her ground, he went still. For an instant, his tense and calculating and _worn-out_ face seemed to soften a little before the walls went back up.

This was cheating, as Annie knew perfectly well. She hoped that, if she and Mitchell demonstrated no fear of Loki now he had a weapon in his hand, he would get the message that, in this place, no one had to constantly fear attack. That _he_ didn't have to, either. 

Which was a fairly easy pose to maintain-- though she had needed to clamp down hard on her natural startle reflex when he turned on her-- when there was no way the weapon he was wielding could hurt them. Annie was dead, and there was nothing a screwdriver could do to her that the tiles at the bottom of the staircase hadn't already done. 

Mitchell could, of course, be killed by a stake through the heart (or possibly some other vital spot, but the heart was traditional and it wasn't as if they had done research.) The thing was, the stake would have to be made of some _living_ material-- wood was also traditional, although Mitchell had once, while watching an old Hammer Films _Dracula_ picture, expressed the opinion that a sharpened bone would probably also do the trick.

Whether he was right about bone or not, the fact remained that steel and plastic could _hurt_ a vampire, in the sense of making him wince and swear. It couldn't _kill_ him, or even really slow him down significantly, not even through the heart. 

Loki, _her_ Loki, had once told Annie that it took a great deal of courage to trust the way she did. In this case, of course, she was only _pretending_ to trust this new Loki. She hoped that, wherever he was, _her_ Loki would approve of the ruse.

And this wasn't the time to think about _her_ Loki, or worry about what might be happening to him. She sat quietly, watching the new Loki weigh his options. As far as she could tell, they were limited: either he let them remove the muzzle, or he didn't. And if he didn't, he went on being unable to speak or eat or drink-- which, judging by his shakiness, was rapidly turning into a critical situation for him. Annie suspected he was acting under the influence of adrenaline in the new situation, but when that wore off he would be in dire straits. 

It was possible he believed that he could threaten or kill them with the screwdriver and escape-- and maybe he really could overpower them both and run for it, even in his weakened state. But that would do exactly nothing to solve his larger problems, and with any luck he would realize it. 

After a long moment, Annie decided to risk it, and held out her hand, palm up. 

"Please give that to me," she reflected. Ghost or no ghost, she felt the sensation of her heart hammering in her chest as she waited for this new strange Loki to make his decision. 

He didn't give her the screwdriver, but he did put it back on the coffee table. And then he sat down on the sofa again, folding his hands in his lap as if to demonstrate harmless intent. 

Annie smiled at him, carefully not allowing herself to breathe a sigh of relief, and gestured to Mitchell to move forward. 

~oOo~

Loki did not know how long he sat on the edge of the cot, hands clasped, waiting for the arrival of "the prince." His head felt all stuffed with something unpleasant, and it was hard to breathe past the matter collected in his nasal passages. The pockets of his pajama trousers contained tissues, but his supply was rapidly running out and blowing his nose provided only momentary relief. He did not wish to resort to his sleeve or the flowered quilt, but he supposed that eventuality might have to be faced. 

Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins gave at least the illusion of a clear head, and he did not give in to panic. If "the prince" was… if he turned out to be… 

The guards had been surprised by the sight of Loki, but had also appeared to _recognize_ him. Their confusion seemed unrelated to his identity. They had spoken of a prince. They had spoken of the prince's _brother,_ as though the _brother_ was the rightful occupant of this cell. 

That last point did not bear much thinking about. Still, if Loki's budding suspicions turned out to be true, it would be the best possible outcome, would it not? Whether his brother or not, the Thor of this realm would be patient, and willing to listen, and would, would… 

He would _help._ He would _listen,_ and he would _help,_ and, and Loki would find his way home. And then, perhaps-- if his suspicions were true-- Loki could also help _this_ Thor retrieve his _own_ brother, so that whatever had gone wrong between them, between that Loki and this Asgard-- if Asgard it truly was-- might be repaired, and reconciliation affected, and… and…

A commotion outside the cell broke in on Loki's confused thoughts. 

"-- sorry, my lord, he called to us and when we looked-- "

"Open the door," came a deep voice, comforting in its familiarity despite being filled with anger in a way Loki had not heard since--

\-- since the time he was held prisoner on SHIELD's helicarrier, following the misunderstanding with regard to a spell placed on Steve Rogers. Loki had very clear memories of trying to project defiance under the regard of Director Fury, while at the same time hoping his brother would soon arrive and defend him. 

And Thor had, arguing to his human comrades on Loki's behalf and ensuring his release from the accursed restraints. It was true, this situation was very different that prior one, but the appearance of Thor-- _any_ Thor-- meant that everything would shortly be, as the humans would say, "cleared up."

There was the rattle of a key in the door, and as it swung sharply inward Loki sprang to his feet. 

"Thor-- " he began, his emotions mixed: quite apart from knowing the Loki of this reality must be in the wrong, it was also more than strange to look at someone who so closely resembled his brother, and yet clearly know he was _not._ Although he rarely needed to use the ability, Loki was able, quite clearly, to feel the presence of those he knew well. This Thor was obviously a different person-- he did not even look exactly like Loki's own Thor-- but the experience was disorienting enough that Loki found himself regretting his own past tricks with illusory doubles. 

He had no time for more than a moment's realization before Thor was upon him. A big hand wrapped around Loki's throat, and he found himself flung backward. He slammed into the wall behind him with enough force to bounce his head off the stone, and for a moment stars obscured his vision. A moment later he was scrabbling futilely at Thor's hand, trying to loosen its grip enough to permit him to breathe. 

It was, of course, possible Thor had expected him to catch himself before his head struck the wall-- it was hardly Thor's fault if Loki was so taken aback he could not react in time. It was also possible Loki's current state of nasal congestion was contributing as much to his inability to breathe as the grip on his throat. Neither of these circumstances was in any way Thor's doing.

Still, as he looked into the face above his, Loki experienced another moment of panic: search the familiar features as he might, he could see nothing of his brother. Or, rather, nothing of the brother Loki had come to know over the past months, the one who offered friendship and affection and the _benefit of the doubt,_ as the humans would put it. 

"Thor, please," he mouthed, and-- though the angry expression did not change-- the grip on his throat relaxed a little. Loki took a breath and tried not to notice how Thor's thumb still lingered upon his windpipe.

"What is the meaning of this trick?" Thor demanded, glowering down upon him. It seemed he had only loosened his hold in order that Loki answer his questions. Which was fair, of course, but Loki did not know the answers. 

Still, he could only try. 

"I, I do not know how this happened," he began. This, he quickly realized, was a poor beginning: Thor slammed him back into the wall-- this time Loki was able at least to avoid having his head strike the stone-- and growled, 

"No more of your lies, Loki." For some reason, the use of his name, rather than _brother,_ caused the trickle of fear running through Loki's veins to flow a little faster. "Why are you garbed like this?" Thor emphasized the question by bumping Loki into the wall once more. "What new malice are you planning?"

"I have no plans," Loki protested, and clawed at Thor's hand when his grip, apparently involuntarily, tightened. "Br-- Thor, please. Listen to me." 

Thor's expression did not change-- well, it might have hardened still further-- and Loki, aware things were even worse between these brothers than he had thought, cast desperately about for some way of convincing this Thor of the truth of his words. 

To his relief, a nervous voice spoke from the doorway. 

"My lord? The queen wishes to see you and the prisoner."

Thor turned his head without loosening his grip on Loki's throat. "The queen? What reason did she give?"

Loki stretched to see over Thor's shoulder. The guard in the doorway flinched at his prince's tone, but did not retreat. 

"We-- " here the man took refuge in numbers-- "thought it best to inform her of the, of the change in the prisoner's condition. We told her that you were investigating, but she expressed the desire to see you both."

Thor did not release Loki, but the hand loosened still further. Loki felt a flush of hope rise within him, as well as of gladness: the queen _wished to see him._ In spite of the behaviour of his bro-- of Thor, he was not entirely abandoned in this realm. Surely, surely--

"Very well," Thor grumbled, with exceedingly bad grace. He glanced at Loki, and back at the guard. "He cannot appear before the queen dressed like this. Send someone to his old chambers, or wherever his former belongings were taken. If his old clothing has been discarded, bring him something else suitable to wear. I will remain here to ensure he does not attempt to escape."

"Thor- " Loki tried again, and was rattled back into the wall.

"Silence," Thor gritted out. "You will sit down, and be silent, or so help me I will-- "

There was no point in escaping, Loki reminded himself. Clearly, the Loki of this reality was a terrible criminal, and unless he explained himself-- _and was believed--_ he would be a fugitive everywhere. His only hope was to beg a chance to tell his story. 

The queen. The queen would realize he was not her son, though Thor had not realized they were not brothers. Surely the queen would know her own son.

Feeling cold all over, and not because of the clammy cell, Loki returned to the edge of the cot and clasped his hands. 

~oOo~

Loki moved only once, when Mitchell sat down beside him: he raised the hand nearest Mitchell and pressed his fingers to the engravings on the side of the muzzle. He had little expectation they would mean anything to the mortal, but the man leaned in for a closer look, and then whistled.

"Annie, have you seen this?" he asked. 

"Seen what?" said Annie, who was sitting on Loki's other side. She smiled quickly at Loki as she spoke, as though to reassure him that she remembered he was present, then spoke again to Mitchell. "What is it?"

"There's runes, or something, burnt into the metal," Mitchell said. His hand suddenly rested on Loki's shoulder. "Is that why you couldn't get yourself out of this? Because there's magic in it?" The answer was so obvious it seemed to go without saying, and so Loki ignored the question. Mitchell rubbed his shoulder. "Okay, that might complicate things. But don't worry, if this doesn't work we really will try something else. It's just the _something else_ could take time to set up, so we'll try this first in case it works. All right?"

The idiom was unfamiliar, but the meaning easy to discern. With the first flush of adrenaline wearing off, Loki found himself unable to muster up any great amount of interest-- or hope. He shrugged and then, shoulders slumped, waited for Mitchell to learn for himself that he was no match for Asgard. 

Mitchell took hold of his shoulders and positioned him so that he was angled toward Annie, with Mitchell mostly behind him. Despite the entire absence of threat in the man's demeanour so far, Loki stiffened defensively. Annie immediately took hold of his hands again, enfolding them in her chilly, insubstantial grasp. 

Instinct warned him not to trust these two, to fight or flee, to rely only upon his own wits and his own resources to save himself. Experience reminded him that trusting others never ended well. 

But his magic was bound, his injuries untreated, and meanwhile thirst more than hunger sapped his strength and his wits. His ability to fight, to defend himself, had long since ebbed below the point at which he would be a match for an angry mortal mob. Without his voice he could not even wheedle his way out of whatever vengeance the humans chose to take upon him. 

His efforts to save himself had already proven no match for the obstacles he encountered as a fugitive in the void. There was little reason to suppose he would fare any better, here on Midgard alone.

These mortal fools, for whatever reason _(sentiment)_ had chosen to help him. As distasteful as his own helplessness might be to admit to, it was also a _fact,_ as was his need of assistance. 

So-- let them help him, and then… then…

Well. He knew not what would happen _then,_ what he would do _then,_ but it would be of his own choice and under his own control. He would… he would…

A sharp stinging pain in his neck snapped him back to the present. He flinched and started to turn, but before he could do more a cold hand patted his neck, as if in apology or consolation. 

"Sorry about that, my hand slipped," Mitchell said, ruffling Loki's hair in a familiar gesture that suggested he had forgotten he was not dealing with the Loki of this reality, the one he cared for. Loki forced down his resentment, his instinct to fight, compelled his tense neck and shoulder muscles to relax. 

He felt Mitchell adjust his grip on the screwdriver, and then position his other hand so that he could catch himself if another slip occurred. Annie cuddled Loki's hands into her own and murmured something clearly meant to be soothing. As much as it raised his helpless ire, Loki did indeed find the gesture comforting. He held still as Mitchell, also muttering reassurances, returned to his hopeless task. 

And then, from somewhere nearby, came a muted sound of music.

~oOo~

Annie and Mitchell both jumped when, from across the room, they heard a voice singing softly, 

_"Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart_  
How the music can free her, whenever it starts  
And it's magic, if the music is groovy  
It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie…" 

"That's Loki's mobile, isn't it?" Mitchell said, laying one hand on the new Loki's shoulder. 

"Yes," Annie said. "And by the ringtone that's probably one of the witches calling."

Mitchell patted Loki and got to his feet, hurrying to the entry hall where Loki's jacket hung. He pulled the mobile out of the pocket. 

"Hello?"

"Loki?" asked a surprised female voice. 

"Catherine," Mitchell said, mostly for Annie's benefit. "This is Loki's mobile, but it's Mitchell speaking. Can I help you?"

"Is Loki there? May I speak to him, please?" asked Catherine Bennett, a local witch and friend of the household. 

"He's… not here right now," Mitchell faltered. Annie screwed up her face and narrowed her eyes at him. Mitchell made a face back and went on, "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, do you know anything about all these rhinoceroses?" Catherine asked. "Is that Loki?"

Mitchell blinked. "Rhinoceroses?" he repeated weakly. "What do you-- ?"

"I was on my way home, after the teashop closed," Catherine explained, "and my bus went past a school."

"And-- ?" Mitchell prompted, although he was beginning to guess where the story would go.

"And there was a rhinoceros standing in the yard." Catherine sounded equal parts stern and amused-- and possibly a little gobsmacked. 

"Just standing there?" Mitchell asked. 

"Yes. No one else noticed it, so I assume it was some sort of apparition."

"I'm sure it was. What I mean is, did it look like it had taken notice of anyone? Someone trying to get into the school yard?"

There was a pause, while Catherine considered. "No, it-- _she,_ I should say, there was a little calf with her-- "

"Of course there was," Mitchell muttered. 

"-- was standing quite peacefully. She looked like she might be waiting for someone. Did Loki have anything to do with it? I know we're not the only sorcerers in Bristol but it just seemed like the kind of thing he might do. Although to be honest I can't imagine why he'd want to."

"It's a sort of a Patronus charm," Mitchell explained, referring to a spell from the Harry Potter stories. "Ordinarily, the rhinoceros would only show up if there was some kind of supernatural threat nearby. He's set the spell all over Bristol, anywhere groups of children gather. You said _rhinoceroses?_ More than one?"

"Yes, I saw two others in a park, near the play structures, and one near a church-- I suppose it could have a child care centre. Although you'd think the fact it was a church would be protection enough."

"Loki is very cautious," Mitchell said. Something else occurred to him. "Where they all the same kind of rhinoceros?" 

Pause. "Is there more than one kind?"

"According to Loki, yes. The way the spell works, the greater the threat posed, the bigger and more aggressive the responding rhinoceros."

"Well, they'd all look the same to me anyway, but they were certainly big. And I didn't see or sense any supernatural presences nearby. The rhinos all looked quite calm. Like they were waiting."

Mitchell hesitated, thinking. The last time Loki had gone missing from Bristol, his rhinoceros charm had failed in his absence. Some time later he had renewed and strengthened the spell, and though Mitchell hadn't thought to ask it made sense that he would have also made sure the charm acted independently of Loki's presence or magical status. 

It made a little less sense for the spell to activate _just in case_ when something happened to Loki, but that was Loki for you. Mitchell just hoped the local werewolves, whose cautious habits meant they had probably never encountered the rhino charm-- it had originally been set up to defend against hostile vampires-- weren't too startled by the sight. Especially if they happened to be driving when they saw their first rhino. 

Annie made another face at him, and when she had his attention mouthed, _"Ask her to come here."_ Mitchell raised his eyebrows, to which Annie nodded vigorously. Mitchell looked at her and then at the new Loki, who was either carefully pretending not to listen or genuinely too lost in his own misery to care. 

Whatever had happened to this Loki, he was definitely in trouble, and so far the screwdriver had been just as useless as he had expected. Perhaps Catherine would be able to figure out a way around the spells on the restraints. 

Probably they should have already called on Heimdall to ask Thor to come and help, but Mitchell felt reluctant. For one thing, Thor had no magic of his own and this Loki looked pretty beat-up, as if a trip through the Bifrost-- Mitchell had experienced the Bifrost a time or two, and it was a very uncomfortable sensation-- might be awfully hard on him. 

For another thing, even knowing this wasn't _his_ Loki, seeing someone who looked so much like his brother in a mess like this was going to be hard on Thor. It would be even worse for the new Loki, weak and disoriented as he was: logically, where there was a Loki, there was probably also a Thor. Mitchell really didn't want to try to make this Loki understand the Thor he was faced with wasn't the Thor he was certainly hoping and wishing for. 

Which reminded him painfully of the fact _their_ Loki was somewhere in need of help, too. But this Loki needed help right now, and maybe Catherine could provide some. And possibly even help them find _their_ Loki and bring him home. 

"Catherine, would you be able to come over here? This is something I think would be easier to explain in person."

~oOo~

Clint was looking quite smug as he walked into the briefing room-- or, in the current context, _debriefing_ room-- on the observation deck and sat down next to Tony. 

"Don't you look like the cat that ate the canary," Tony remarked. "Even for a guy who just helped shut down one of the Mandarin's biggest schemes yet. Don't tell me, you've developed a new kind of exploding arrowhead that can take down this helicarrier."

"Don't be stupid," Clint replied. "It'd take at least _five_ exploding arrows to do that. Assuming each of them took out one engine, I mean. I'm pretty sure this thing can stay in the air on three engines."

"A B-17 could get home on _one,"_ Steve informed him as he sat down on the other side of the table. 

"Sure, Grandpa, but how big was a B-17?" Clint challenged. Steve made a face that conceded the point. 

"So what _are_ you so pleased about?" Bruce asked. 

"I finally got Steve," Clint gloated. 

_"Got?"_ Thor repeated. 

Steve sighed. "Springsteen." 

"I thought you said he wasn't your thing," Tony argued. Steve had enjoyed the concert as much as anyone, for the sense of community that had appealed so much to Loki, but the actual music had as little appeal for him as most modern rock. 

Steve looked apologetic. Tony opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked enlightened. 

_"The Seeger Sessions,_ right? Clint, that is so cheating!"

"I'm a spy, remember? Cheating is what I do," Clint replied smugly. "You also might like _Nebraska,_ Steve."

"Oh, for-- " Tony began, just as the door opened again and Coulson walked in. 

"Thor," the agent said calmly, "you seem to have a visitor."

"I?" said Thor. He was pushing back his chair when Sif entered the room on Coulson's heels. Before Thor could speak, she was already doing so. 

"I apologize for the intrusion," Sif spoke rapidly. "And I thank Agent Coulson-- " she pronounced his title as if the wording still felt awkward in her mouth-- "for speaking on my behalf to your guards." 

Aware Coulson's intervention had probably been for the safety of the guards in the first place-- no one who had seen Sif in action during the thing with the Dire Wraiths would have wanted to confront her-- the Avengers all nodded solemnly. 

Sif went on, "Heimdall requested that I bring you a message, Thor. He saw something very puzzling occur in your brother's home, and it concerned him enough to think you should perhaps investigate." 

Thor was already on his feet, and now he turned to Agent Coulson. 

"I hope you will convey my regrets to Director Fury for my failure to attend his debriefing," he said, and was halfway to the door by the time Coulson replied, "Oh, I'm sure he'll understand."

_"I_ want to be alien royalty," Tony muttered-- even Tony Stark could only get out of so many post-mission debriefings. 

"Hush," Bruce muttered back, but Thor was already long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Okay, although this story doesn't encompass MCU events past **The Avengers** , I did borrow a moment from **The Dark World** just because it fit the situation and also the attitude of the Thor involved.
> 
>  **Warnings:** A certain amount of whump. Also, for reasons of pacing we seem to be spending most of our time in Bristol this chapter, which probably means we'll focus more heavily on events n Asgard next time. I considered trying to force the chapter to be more even-handed but I felt like it was becoming unwieldy. I haven’t forgotten either Loki, honest!

Loki regretted the loss of his soft grey t-shirt and flannel pajama trousers, but he only protested when Thor-- with a disgusted look-- bundled up the flowered quilt and thrust it at an embarrassed guard. 

"Dispose of this," the golden prince ordered. 

"Give that back," Loki demanded-- most unwisely-- and took a step toward the guard-- which really was terribly stupid of him. In the next moment, he was once again restrained by the throat. Apparently this Thor had never heard of taking someone-- or perhaps just his brother-- by the arm or shoulder. It was a characteristic Loki found himself very grateful to know his own _real_ brother had never displayed. 

"Go," Thor commanded, and the guard, with evident gratitude, hurried away-- taking with him the last vestiges of Loki's Midgardian identity.

Distressed, Loki opened his mouth to protest afresh, but the look Thor bent upon him was enough to make him reconsider. Instead, he silently returned to the business of dressing himself. 

Which was no small matter: the outfit brought from his-- from _the prisoner's--_ old chambers was a formal one that normally would have required the assistance of a squire to assume. Perhaps whoever fetched it had thought it most suitable to an audience with the queen, or perhaps he had simply snatched up the first garments that came to hand. 

Whatever the reason, the clothing was absurdly complicated, and Loki was having a difficult time getting dressed without assistance. The two guards who remained in the cell with the prince and the prisoner showed no inclination to help. Thor, meanwhile, showed every evidence of impatience and loss of temper as he waited. 

Despite being well aware it was unwise under the circumstances, Loki found his own temper growing short as he struggled, sweating, into the ridiculous, heavy garb. How in the Nine had he borne it for so long? True, his fever was not helping, but the clothing of Midgard was so much simpler to put on and more comfortable to wear. This was clumsy and restrictive, and when finally dressed he would look ridiculous into the bargain. 

He reminded himself that he had worn such garb for centuries. Indeed, when he had returned to Asgard this past winter, for the last days of the Yule celebrations, he had worn his old clothing and had not resented it at all. 

Of course, on that occasion he had been costuming himself to play the role of a prince of Asgard, to please and show regard to his parents. And, too, he had been provided with a servant to assist him. Still, he would have struggled alone without complaint, then, just for the look of pleasure on his mother's face when she saw him looking as he did in the old days. It had been such a little thing, to allow her a few days' pretense that nothing had changed-- or, rather, that nothing had _needed_ to change, that their family had never needed to shatter and be patched back together. They were, Loki knew, stronger at the mended places than ever before, but the old pleasing façade was irreparably marred. It would be unnatural for Mother-- and perhaps Father, too-- not to miss it.

Dressing the part was a small enough offering, to pretend for a while that none of it had happened-- including the long centuries of anger and loneliness that had warped him out of a shape that could ever fit into Asgard again. 

This disguise, Loki reminded himself, was to please the queen of _this_ realm, the mother of the prisoner. He _needed_ to please her, to convince her, to win her support. 

At the same time, of course, costuming himself in the clothing of her son would hardly bolster his claim that he belonged on another realm, let alone in another reality. 

Apparently, Loki's thoughts had slowed his hands. Thor, in a growl, announced, 

"There is little purposes in tarrying, Loki. You must learn to face the consequences of your actions."

It was not so much the consequences of his _own_ actions that had Loki worried at the moment. He had-- if, he admitted, only reluctantly -- learned to accept those. What worried him now was the idea of facing the consequences of _someone else's_ actions.

Even with a fever he had better sense than to express the thought to someone so quick to seize him by the throat. Instead, Loki bit back any comment and fastened the last of the foolish, unnecessary straps that held his overcoat together. Centuries of boasting of their advanced culture, and Asgard had so far not even invented the _zipper._

"There. Done," he said, warning himself to keep his voice mild. This was not _his_ Thor, who could be trusted to overlook a cranky tone if he felt Loki truly had something to be cranky about. _His_ Thor would have long since inquired about the sniffling and coughing, the flushed and sweaty complexion. _This_ Thor appeared to want nothing more than to lock the cell door and walk away, but of course it was his responsibility to find out what sort of evil was being contemplated by this mysterious villain and his flower-patterned quilt. 

"Good," Thor replied as Loki turned toward him. He glanced up, over Loki's shoulder, in an obvious signal. Before Loki could react the guards closed in, seizing his arms and forcing his hands together. _Submit,_ he warned himself, suppressing his natural instinct to struggle. If Thor wanted to march him to the queen like a prisoner, well, that was what he was. He had to get to the queen and plead his case. Fighting with guards or fleeing by magic could only make his situation worse. 

There was a sudden cold pressure around his wrists, and all idea of acquiescence abruptly vanished. Loki recoiled violently, but too late: he looked down to find his hands closely shackled by manacles so complex and heavy he appeared to be trapped in the gears of a machine. 

Worse, there was an immediate sensation of something struggling within his breast. Breath constricting, Loki reached out for his magic. 

To his unspeakable-- but carefully concealed-- relief, he immediately found himself touching the source of his power, if only with his metaphorical fingertips. The sensation was rather like turning on a tap and getting only a trickle of water. Still, if one was patient a trickle could, eventually, fill a bathtub. 

The manacles on his wrists were obviously designed to suppress his magic. More accurately, they were designed to suppress the magic of the local Loki, or perhaps any sorcerer of this reality. Asgard's past-- _his_ Asgard's past, for all he knew it was _this_ Asgard's present-- as a martial realm meant it had considerable experience in containing prisoners of all kinds, including those proficient in the use of magic. Clearly, this Asgard had learned similar techniques, probably for similar reasons. Or perhaps the local Loki was a habitual criminal whose powers routinely required suppression. Perhaps these manacles were specially created to contain him.

Regardless, Thor and the guards had come prepared and had not hesitated. Which rather begged the question of whether magic suppression in this reality was a painless procedure, or if confining their Loki was a matter of such necessity that discomfort to him was an acceptable side effect of keeping him under control. 

Loki chose not to ask himself whether _this_ Thor simply did not care. 

The point was, his captors had come prepared to suppress their Loki's magic. The fact the shackles were not perfectly designed to contain the Loki they were dealing with-- well, that was perhaps a case of _least said, soonest mended._ Small as it was, the little bit of magic Loki had available to him was a tactical advantage for as long as he could conceal it. The discomfort that accompanied even imperfect suppression was also to be concealed, if only for the sake of his pride.

Surprise must have flashed across his face, because Thor smiled at him-- and it was not the kind of smile Loki was accustomed to seeing on the face of his brother. 

"What?" he asked, triumph in his tone. "I thought you _liked_ tricks."

There seemed little purpose in remarking on the distinction between a _trick_ and an _ambush,_ and Loki had no desire to converse with this Thor anyway. He therefore held his tongue while Thor took him for once by the shoulder and shoved him toward the door of the cell. 

Loki, properly disguised in a stranger's garb, and properly demeaned by the humiliating manacles, docilely followed the two guards into the presence of the queen.

~~oOo~ 

Had he given the matter any thought, Loki supposed he would have expected to be paraded before as many mortals as wished to gape at him. The only wonder was that it had taken so long for the exhibition to begin.

Well, that was one surprising thing. The second was the irrational little pang of betrayal he felt, when he realized Annie and Mitchell intended to do so. It was ridiculous for him to feel so, after what he had done to their world. And it was not as if Loki was inexperienced in the business of being betrayed. He should have expected something like this, should have known the kindly handling he was receiving had to come to an end. It was not as if he deserved better.

It still stung. 

The newcomers were women, both tall and capable-looking. One appeared to be about the same age as Mitchell, the other considerably older. They held a short consultation with Mitchell on the doorstep-- Loki should have had no difficulty hearing them, but to his dull alarm their muffled voices were inaudible-- and then entered the room where Loki still sat, captive, with Annie yet holding his hand. 

The older of the two women approached, crouching to look him in the face. 

"Hello, Loki. My name is Catherine Bennett, and this is my friend Agnes Scott. Mitchell asked us to come and see if we can help you." Loki kept his face carefully blank. The mortal woman smiled slightly. "I understand that you must be confused, and maybe a little frightened-- and also that it probably doesn't seem at all safe for you to show it, if you are." Loki sat very still, even in his condition too experienced to give anything away. "You really are safe here," the woman went on quietly, and Loki did not allow his face to reflect the fact he _had--_ foolishly-- felt safe, for a little while, before these strangers arrived to stare at him. 

Catherine stood and then, without asking leave, sat down on the padded seat beside him. The second woman _(Agnes)_ also seated herself in a large comfortable-looking chair, while Mitchell took the other padded seat across the room from Loki and Annie. 

"I hope you'll answer a few questions for me," Catherine said calmly, phrasing it as a request instead of the demand it undoubtedly was. "I can see you've been injured, and you're probably in pain." Loki did not snort in contempt, but it was a near thing. 

The urge to do so left him as Catherine went on, 

"Can you tell me whether any of the pain you feel is connected to your magic? Mitchell tells me the… restraints you're wearing seem to have magic-suppressing qualities. Correct?" Loki did not respond in any way, but she correctly took that as confirmation. "All right. Is that painful to you?"

 _Painful?_ The question was ludicrous. Painfully humiliating, yes. Painfully infuriating, yes. Physically painful-- no. There was a feeling of his senses being blunted, but certainly no pain. 

And why would _she,_ or any of them, care if there was?

Catherine waited, and Loki finally turned slightly toward her and shook his head. 

"Good. Thank you," she replied calmly. "Agnes and I are friends of this household, including the Loki who lives here." _The Loki we want back,_ she did not have to say. Loki dully hoped the other Loki was having a miserable time of it. Small chance of anything else, if they really had traded places. Of course these mortals' activities were all in aid of retrieving that other Loki, and, and disposing of the one they did not want.

Still, if this woman really was a sorcerer-- 

"I don't know whether we can get you out of this muzzle-- " Catherine said, and Annie interrupted, 

"And the chains."

"And the chains," Catherine agreed smoothly, as if it had been her intent to say it all along. Loki was not so far gone that he did not know she was lying. Apparently this Catherine was astute enough to realize that, when someone is chained, it may be for a good reason. "Anyway, we'll see what we can do. All right?"

The idiom was unfamiliar, but the intent was obvious. Loki hesitated only slightly before he nodded. 

And, just at that moment, there came a loud knock on the door. 

~oOo~

When Mitchell opened the front door he wasn't sure whether to squawk in panic or squeak in relief. 

"Thor!" he hissed, stepping out the front door onto the steps. "What are you doing here?" Thor blinked, obviously nonplussed by the reception. Mitchell raised his hands in apology, resisting the urge to flap them the way George would be doing, if he were here. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it came out. I just-- "

"Sif came to find me," Thor spoke over Mitchell's splutterings. "Heimdall had requested my return to Asgard to receive a message."

"Oh," said Mitchell, then admitted, "We weren't sure Heimdall would do anything on his own account, even if he saw what happened."

Thor looked faintly reproachful as he replied, "He told me that he saw Loki vanish and reappear, but in different garb and with the appearance of injury. Surely you knew I would wish to be made aware of this as soon as possible?"

"Well, yes," Mitchell conceded. "But the thing is, Thor, we're pretty sure this isn't, well, _our_ Loki."

"Explain," Thor said tightly, expression gone dark. Mitchell swallowed-- even the first time Thor had appeared at their door, looking for a confrontation with his lost brother, he hadn't directly threatened anyone. Mitchell wasn't at all glad to have this hard look turned on himself. 

And then, apparently catching himself, Thor relented. "I apologize. I know you love him, too, and that whatever has happened worries you. But what-- ?"

Mitchell took a deep breath. "I have no idea what happened. There was a flash, and then this Loki appeared in the lounge, where Loki-- _our_ Loki-- had been sitting.

"This is a different Loki, Thor. He's… harder-looking, somehow, and he's been roughed up pretty badly. He doesn't know Annie and me, and I think he expects us to hurt him. And he's… he looks _older._ Five or six years, at least. I mean, if he was human it'd be five or six years. It seems like there was some sort of localized magical accident and our Loki was taken away and replaced with this other one, which means we're landed with a Loki who's obviously had some very bad experiences, and _our_ Loki--"

"Is in the hands of whoever harmed this other Loki," Thor growled. 

"Presumably," Mitchell admitted. "I'm sorry, Thor. We've got the local witches here in hopes they can help. The thing is, this Loki is chained and muzzled and there's magic preventing us from freeing him. And he looks like he really needs to be freed-- to give him water, if nothing else, because he looks pretty weak. I think he might be bleeding internally, too, but if we get the chains off I hope he can heal himself. We were going to send for you as soon as Agnes and Catherine let us know what they thought."

"I must see him," Thor stated. 

"Of course," Mitchell agreed. "I'm sure he's been hoping you'd show up. Just… go easy, all right? He's not going to be happy when he figures out you're not his Thor, and he's had a hard enough time already."

"Of course," Thor agreed, obviously trying not to look reproachful. "I will be careful." 

"Of course you will," said Mitchell, and led the way into the house.

"Loki?" Thor said, quite gently, as he stepped into the lounge.

Loki's head snapped up at the sound of Thor's voice, and his eyes widened. A second later he had shot to his feet, tearing his hand from Annie's grasp, and was scrambling backward, nearly tripping over Catherine's feet as he did so. 

Of all the reactions they had been expecting-- anything from joy to disbelief to disappointment when he realized this was the wrong Thor-- _obvious terror_ wasn't even on the list. 

"Loki, wait," Annie said quickly, springing to her feet. Loki cast a complicated glance at her-- one that chilled her at the same moment it broke her heart-- then quickly returned his attention to Thor, eyes narrowed and body coiled. 

Thor, wisely, stopped in his tracks. He set down Mjolnir, then raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Please, Loki, listen to me. I am here to-- "

Injured as he was, Annie hadn't expected Loki to be capable of moving very fast. 

Then again, she also hadn't expected him to feel like he needed to. 

Wrong on both counts, Annie could only watch-- and maybe shriek in dismay-- as Loki lunged forward. Thor reached out to catch at him, and Loki dove under his arms, sliding on the wooden floor and then rolling to his feet. He didn't pause or look back, just bolted for the front door. In the split-second it took Thor to turn, Loki had the door open and was gone. 

"Loki, please!" Annie heard herself call, uselessly, as she ran for the door behind Thor and the others. By the time they were out on the pavement, Loki was halfway down Windsor Terrace, running like it hurt him but he knew he'd be hurt worse if he hung around. 

What had been _done_ to him?

Thor didn't waste his breath shouting, or his time whirling Mjolnir to take flight. He pounded down the street after his fleeing… not-brother. Loki glanced back, his expression one of mingled terror and rage, just as he reached the corner at Pyle Hill Crescent, the first place he could get off the terrace. He turned right, and that was when Annie remembered the mosque on the corner where Pyle Hill Crescent met Green Street on the next block. 

The mosque held religious classes for children.

Annie and the others got to the corner just as Loki drew abreast of the mosque. He didn't slow down, nor so far as she could tell did he offer any kind of threat to the silent and deserted-looking building.

Annie had just started to feel a flush of relief-- _nothing bad was going to happen--_ when a black whirlwind boiled up in the street in front of Loki. Out of it plunged an enormous rhinoceros.

Loki didn't have a chance to either surrender or try to dodge: the rhinoceros lowered her (it had to be her) head and charged into him at full speed. Loki was lifted helplessly off his feet by the force of the collision, sprawled over the animal's head and halfway up her neck. The rhinoceros slung her head sideways and he was thrown clear across the street. He bounced and rolled like a floppy toy, ending in a crumpled heap on the opposite pavement. 

The spell must have cloaked them in magic, because no one emerged from any of the houses up and down the street to see what was happening. The rhino turned to face Loki again, pawing the ground and shaking her head. Annie desperately zapped herself forward, landing between the animal and Loki. She didn't have time to check him, could only hope he was still alive. She raised her hands in the gesture you saw on television, when someone came off a showjumper and the ring crew was trying to catch the loose horse, arms outstretched to slow or turn it. The rhino lowered her head and snorted explosively.

Annie held her ground. She wondered, for a second, whether it would hurt when the magical rhinoceros charged her. She was already bewildered by the attack: Loki hadn't tried to get into the mosque, or harm anyone. Why had the rhino-- ?

The rhinoceros had quieted, had raised its head and was looking at her. It was a white rhinoceros-- Annie had spent enough time around _her_ Loki to recognise the square upper lip. The longer horn on the creature's nose was a graceful scimitar-like curve that looked strangely familiar…

And Annie suddenly realized what was happening here, why the rhino had gone for Loki like that. Why she wasn't charging Annie, too.

"It's all right," she promised. "He isn't going to hurt anyone. It's okay. I've got him."

The rhino lowered her head again, but she didn't look threatening anymore. 

"It's okay," Annie crooned, stooping over Loki, who was terrifyingly still, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll make sure everyone is safe. You don't have to stop him."

The rhino snorted again, more quietly. She took an irresolute step backward-- then shone brightly silver and, slowly, vanished. 

Annie let out her breath in a whoosh of relief as the rest of the group ran up. She touched her fingertips to the side of Loki's throat, and felt the flutter of his pulse just as he opened his eyes, glazed over in confusion. He was still too stunned to protest or struggle when the others gathered round. 

"What the hell was that?" Mitchell demanded, on rather a high note. "Loki's rhinos don't attack anybody unless they're actively threatening someone. Here," he interrupted himself as Loki tried to sit up, "let me help you. Come on." 

Thor held back, looking anxious and ridiculously guilty, as Mitchell supported Loki. Annie glanced apologetically up at him, and then hastily answered Mitchell:

"Didn't you recognize her?"

"The _rhino?"_ Mitchell demanded. "Annie, I don't _know_ any rhinos."

"She's the one from Whipsnade Zoo," Annie persisted. "The mother one. Remember when we fought the helicarrier there?"

"I'm not likely to forget that," Mitchell grumbled. 

"And there was a school trip there at the same time, and Loki asked the white rhinoceroses to protect some of the children while we dealt with the helicarrier? That was the leader, the big female. She must be part of the spell now: she must be the model for the rhinos that protect the city if something happens to Loki." The rhinoceros charm hadn't activated when Loki was in California, so this had to be an extra level of magic, something that kicked in if Loki was incapacitated the way he was the time SHIELD-- or rather the creatures infiltrating SHIELD-- had kidnapped him and bound his powers. 

"Okay, I can see him doing that," Mitchell said. "But the rhinoceros charm is defensive. The rhinos don't bother anyone who isn't actively dangerous. Why on earth did it-- she-- attack Loki now? Was he planning something and she somehow knew it?"

Mitchell's eyes widened as the answer suddenly came to him. Thor also looked enlightened. Annie spelled it out anyway, for the benefit of the witches:

"He must have put in an extra level of protection, just in case _he_ went mad or bad or something." Thor started to protest and Annie added, "I know, this Loki wasn't actually trying to hurt anyone, but _our_ Loki wasn't exactly in his right mind when he committed his crimes before. He didn't exactly do them on purpose. And do you really think _our_ Loki would give himself-- or any other Loki-- a chance to do something awful again?" Her mouth twisted and she added, "Or give himself _the benefit of the doubt?"_

Of course he wouldn't.

Everyone looked at the new Loki, who was sitting hunched forward, trying not to hold his ribs too obviously. He was staring at the ground, shoulders stiff in anxiety as much as pain, and he must have sensed everyone's eyes on him because he went a little smaller. His nose and ears were bleeding again. 

Thor reached carefully out and brushed his fingertips against Loki's shoulder. He was wearing so many layers of leather and padding he probably couldn't even feel Thor's touch, but he recoiled from the movement regardless. 

"I promise I will not hurt you," Thor said, and he sounded like every syllable lacerated his throat. "We should return to the house and see whether Catherine and Agnes are able to help you. Will you let me carry you?"

Loki didn't look up. The visible part of his face tightened even further as pain was compounded by anger and shame. 

But he didn't object when Thor moved closer. Thor wisely said nothing further, slipped his left arm around Loki's back, his right under his knees, and carefully rose to his feet. Loki's expression was blank and his body rigid as Thor, the others following, carried him back toward the pink house. 

~oOo~

Instead of the throne room, the queen received them in a medium-sized chamber. From the doorway there was an expanse of shining marble floor, and then a long table and chairs at the back of the apartment. It was very much like the chamber in which Loki's father was wont to consult with his advisers-- the one in which, last summer, Odin had listened to Loki's theories concerning the mysterious aggression of the new Jotun king. 

Best not to think of that now. 

Best, too, not to dwell on how much this queen resembled his mother as she sat straight-backed and regal at the head of the table. She was not, Loki could tell as much the moment he entered her presence. The signature of her magic was different, and the sense of her personality: there was a sureness, a confidence, here, that felt genuine. 

It had taken Loki many years to recognize the uncertainty behind his own mother's mask of serenity-- wrapped up as he was in his own fears and insecurities, he had assumed he was alone, in Asgard, in feeling any. That was yet another area in which he had been both unfair and mistaken, and his new understanding of his mother's vulnerabilities had done much, recently, to draw them closer. He was not her son in blood, it was true, but in all the ways that counted he might as well have sprung from her womb. 

This queen rose gracefully from her chair as her son, his prisoner (did she still consider the prisoner her son?) and the two guards entered the chamber. She took two steps away from the table and waited as they stopped in the middle of the open floor before her. 

Thor's hand was a weight on Loki's shoulder, and it was with feeling of resentment that Loki slipped from under it to drop to one knee before the queen. He knew perfectly well that, as a shackled prisoner, his rightful place was on both knees. He had, once, taken that posture of his own volition, when he was brought into the presence of Odin for the first time since his fall. At that time he had been fully conscious of his own wrongdoing, of his need to demonstrate contrition and to make amends. It had seemed very important to him, that his father knew he regretted his actions and did not seek to excuse himself. 

Probably the Loki of this world also needed very badly to demonstrate those things, but Loki was not he. Having done nothing wrong-- in _this_ world, at least-- an appearance of contrition could only confuse matters. He could hardly assert his innocence on the one hand and display penitence on the other. 

"My lady," he murmured, and bowed his head, shackled hands clasped before him. He tensed as he felt, behind him, Thor's temptation to strike him for insolence. Raised at court and well trained in protocol, Loki knew perfectly well his demeanour was appropriate-- if he was a visitor from a foreign realm, brought for the first time into the presence of the queen. Which was in fact the case, whatever Thor and the guards believed. 

"Loki," replied the queen, and he could not read any emotion in that word. Well, he had for centuries had little skill in reading the emotions of his own mother. Small wonder he failed here. 

And then she looked over his head to the guards standing just inside the door. "Captain? You feel I should know of recent events in your cells?" 

Thor shifted restlessly, clearly feeling it was his place to speak first. In terms of rank he was correct, but since the captain of the guards was actually present when the bewildering events occurred, the queen's choice was the sensible one.

Without looking around, he could picture the captain's unease as he made his courtesy to the queen. 

"Yes, your grace," he murmured. The queen waited, and now Loki could read tension and indecision in her. Perhaps, he thought as hope stirred within him, she really was still attached to the imprisoned Loki. Perhaps she would be willing to hear him out. Perhaps she, too, could feel the difference between the Loki before her and the one she had called son, already realized that something had changed and something was wrong. 

Bowing his head, Loki waited for the captain of the guards to speak. 

What the man said brought his head snapping up in surprise, to meet the equally startled, and suddenly dark, eyes of the queen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Just a note: Housemates!Loki isn't particularly silver-tongued when he's speaking about anything important to himself. I drew that trait directly from **Thor** \-- you may recall, when Loki was telling Thor's friends he was the one who sent for the Allfather (and justifying himself, and protesting his love for Thor), he kept wringing his hands and looking shifty and anxious as hell. Then, later, when he went to scheme with Laufey, he was perfectly cool and slick as could be. The movie, at that point, was setting us up to believe Loki was genuinely plotting to kill Odin, so it made sense for Loki to seem so sincere-- when in fact Loki was lying his head off and luring Laufey to his doom. _
> 
> _The difference in his demeanour between the two scenes was so striking I thought it could not be accidental: Loki was utterly convincing in a circumstance when we later learned he was definitely lying. That cast the other confrontation in a very different light: it made no tactical sense at all for Loki to lie so unconvincingly to Thor's friends. He had to knew they would be bad enemies, and he probably knew they didn't trust him in the first place. That made me think he was (mostly) telling the truth to Thor's friends, and his shifty discomfort reflected his anxiety about doing so, and also his belief they wouldn't believe him. That impression is reflected in how I write Housemates!Loki. _
> 
> _The above doesn't necessarily apply to the Loki we met in **The Avengers** , since I saw no through-line at all between the character in the first movie and the one in the second. (As far as I was concerned, everyone in **The Avengers** felt like a different person from the ones we met in previous movies. How convenient for me.) We'll see whether Avengers!Loki's relationship with the truth bears any resemblance to Housemates!Loki's when he's in better shape. And, you know, able to speak. _
> 
> _**Warnings:** I love a good Thor-and-Loki reconciliation story. I do. And I like to think of Thor as a thoughtful, insightful character, and write him that way. It's just that, the more I see of MCU!Thor, the less able I am to believe in that Thor, or that he ever felt  anything for his brother, at least as adults. By now I'm remembering that last scene in **Thor** , when Sif and Frigga are talking about how Thor misses his brother, and remembering that Thor was actually going to Heimdall to ask about Jane. _
> 
> _All of which is just to say-- I think there is definitely room to interpret the movies as "Thor was done with Loki many years ago," and I'm afraid that impression informs one of the Thors we're going to see in this story. This is a spoiler, I guess, but I hate to get people's hopes up._

"Say that again, please," the queen requested, through stiff lips. Loki did not have to look around to know the captain-- Ingjaldr was his name, at least it was in Loki's Asgard-- was uneasy. The man actually swallowed audibly before replying, 

"My lady, we knew something was wrong when we heard the prisoner calling out. We realized he had somehow removed the muzzle, and so we had to investigate."

"He had removed a _muzzle?"_ the queen repeated, her voice perfectly even and therefore perfectly dangerous. If it had not been difficult to do so unobtrusively while kneeling, Loki would have edged backwards. 

He had quite forgotten about overhearing the soldiers' references to a muzzle: the idea had frightened and horrified him at the time, but a great many other things had intervened to frighten him since. 

His mother's-- _Frigga's--_ the _queen's--_ distress made sense, of course, if she still considered that prisoner to be her son. Or, really, even if she did not: in civilized realms one does not dump prisoners in holding cells, possibly for hours, in such a state. Presumably the Loki of this realm used incantations in his workings, but even so the manacles on Loki's wrists argued that his magic could be restrained even if his tongue-- and his ability to swallow freely and _breathe--_ was not. 

Of course, there was also no reason to think the local Loki was suffering from flu and its attendant nasal congestion, but Loki found himself struggling with claustrophobic panic as he pictured himself in such a state right now. And suppose the queen did not believe him, or was persuaded that such restraint was reasonable after all? Suppose they had an extra muzzle lying about _just in case?_

Loki flinched, almost hunching over as pain lanced through his chest-- confined and mostly helpless though it was, his magic reacted to the imagined threat by trying to get free. The sensation was rather like a bird of prey trying to fight its way out of a trap-- that trap consisting of Loki's chest. Having his magic drained away by mortal inventions had been unpleasant, but Loki was beginning to see quite clearly why his grandfather Bor had removed this particular punishment from routine use. If the Loki of this realm had been imprisoned in such a way for some hours, what condition might he be in by now?

And then the queen's glacial voice broke in on his thoughts:

"He was _muzzled?_ On whose authority was this done?" she demanded. 

"He was delivered to us that way, my lady." Loki could well imagine the guard's relief at being able to make the assertion. "By the prince."

Frigga took a step forward, and at her expression Loki was visited with the desire to emulate his pet kittens and hide himself under a handy piece of furniture.

_"Delivered to you,"_ she repeated. "When he was returned here from Midgard?"

"Yes, your grace," Ingjaldr replied. 

_"Eight days ago,"_ the queen said, rage and disbelief warring in her voice. "Am I to understand that _my son_ has been _muzzled_ for _eight days?"_

_Eight days?_

"Yes, my lady," the captain agreed. "And chained," he added, which seemed unnecessary. 

There was something in the man's voice, not just anxiety or discomfort. Loki distracted himself from his own dismay by trying to place it as the captain went on, 

"The crown prince brought him to the cells, and my men asked whether they should remove the restraints he was wearing. The cells are warded against escape by magic, so the chains were unnecessary. The prince told us he should remain as he was until the Allfather returned to pass judgment on him."

And there it was: resentment. That was startling: the soldiers and guards of Asgard all _loved_ Thor-- at least, Loki had never had any reason to believe otherwise, not of _his_ Thor-- but it was evident Ingjaldr was angry. Why should he resent a command from his prince?

"The Allfather," said Frigga, "has been in Vanaheim, consulting with their most powerful mages on the best way to secure the Tesseract. It is not known when he will return."

"No, my lady. I know, my lady," agreed Ingjaldr. 

"And how has he been eating and drinking all this time?" the queen asked, in a perfectly awful voice. She sounded nothing like Loki's mother anymore-- Loki was suddenly visited with a mental image of Galadriel, beautiful and terrible, and the vision did not amuse him in the slightest. 

"My lady, he has not," said the captain, and now Loki thought he could hear frustration as well as anger in the man's voice. "We have sent messages to the prince, asking him to review the prisoner's condition, and had no response."

And really, Loki realized, both emotions made sense for the captain, whatever he thought of his prisoner. Ingjaldr was an experienced guard and commander. He would have standards for the treatment of prisoners-- certainly guards in _Loki's_ Asgard did-- and whatever this Loki had done _(on Midgard?)_ Ingjaldr still felt him entitled to appropriate handling. 

Or, more likely and even more reasonably, Ingjaldr felt _his men_ to have been ill-used, compelled to mistreat this prisoner in defiance of their own professional standards. They could not defy the direct orders of their prince-- in the absence of the Allfather, the crown prince's word was law, above even that of the queen-- but that did not mean they had to _like_ them. 

"Thank you, Captain," murmured Frigga, and now her attention shifted from the Ingjaldr and his second to the other person who stood behind Loki. 

There was a time-- not really very long ago, as these things were measured-- when Loki would have expected to take tremendous pleasure in seeing the golden prince wrong-footed like this. Especially by his mother, who showed strong emotion so rarely that seeing her angry would have felt like a portent of the end of all things. 

It turned out, in practice, and even when dealing with a mother who was not actually his mother and a brother who was not his brother either, there was no pleasure to be had in the situation. Loki had quite lost the habit of ill-wishing Thor, and despite the circumstances, the new attitude persisted.

And besides, surely there was a good reason for the prince's actions. Surely he knew something more of the situation, something he had failed to tell the guards, that explained everything. There must have been a good reason why this realm's Loki had needed to be kept in restraints for so long after his capture, why Thor had been unable to--

"The guards should have removed the restraints," Thor was saying, his tone defensive. Loki cut a glance upward at the queen. One elegantly-shaped eyebrow arched, and Loki imagined that Thor flinched. When he spoke again, his voice rose in anger. "I delivered him to the cells. The Allfather being absent, all Asgard was my responsibility. Loki was _yours,_ captain." 

"You ordered that he should remain as he was until the Allfather's return," Ingjaldr repeated stubbornly. "You ordered that no one should see him save yourself and the Allfather, and you said nothing about removing his restraints. When the crown prince delivers a prisoner bound and gagged to the cells and says no one is to interfere with him, then that means _no one interferes with him._ We had our orders, and those orders were followed." _However little we agreed with them,_ Loki could almost hear the unspoken words.

"Was that why my lady was refused, when I sent her to ask after my son?" demanded Frigga. It occurred to Loki that the guards might not have refused the queen, had she paid that visit for herself. Judging by the pained and momentarily guilty expression that flashed across her face, the prisoner's mother had also worked that out for herself. 

"It was," the captain muttered. "We sent messages, asking the prince to reconsider his command, but in the absence of any reply it was clear we were meant to continue to follow our original orders."

"I did not mean for-- " Thor protested. He hesitated, apparently trying to marshal his arguments. "He needed to understand that he would not be coddled, would not receive special treatment. I did not mean for the restraints to be left for more than a day or so. The guards should have-- "

"Loki is _your brother,"_ the queen insisted. "You should have ensured-- "

"I had to take up my duties in the Allfather's place," Thor protested.

"You forgot all about him, did you not?" Frigga challenged, which was exactly what Loki had been thinking. 

Thor lost his temper.

"I had more important things to think about!" he shouted.

There was a really dreadful silence as Thor and his mother glared at each other. They both appeared to have forgotten all about Loki _again,_ to say nothing of Ingjaldr and his silent underling. Loki, for one, had no immediate wish to draw attention to himself. 

"Will you leave us, please," the queen said through stiff lips. She was not looking at the guards. Loki glanced swiftly back and found Thor's face mirroring his own surprise. 

"Mother-- " Thor began, his tone a combination of conciliation and offense. 

Frigga smiled tensely. "Please. I know I may not give orders to my king, but I wish to have words with… your brother, and I fear he will not speak freely before you." She looked down at Loki, who hastily lowered his gaze. 

"Anything you wish to say to him should also be said in front of me," Thor protested. "He will take advantage of you, Mother. Of your desire to believe there is still good in him. There _is none._ He is lost to us, to you, and you should-- "

"Chain him and muzzle him, and leave him to die alone?" Frigga asked, her tone coolly curious. Loki did not have to turn to know Thor was flushing with shame and-- mostly-- anger. "I wish to know what has happened, what the guards know and what your brother has to say for himself. I am sure you have _more important_ matters to occupy your time. Will you leave us?"

There was a moment when Loki was sure Thor would give in to his anger-- he could feel electricity crackling in the air. 

And then Thor gave in. 

"I will be in the throne room," he growled, obviously addressing the guards. "When the prisoner is ready to return to his cell, send for me."

"My lord," murmured Ingjaldr. A moment later there was the sound of the door opening and closing, and the sense of electricity died from the air. 

Eyes still cast downward, Loki became aware of a presence standing before him. 

"Child. Look at me." He obediently raised his head. Gazing down at him was the beautiful face of the queen, wearing the coolly serene smile he remembered so well. It was the smile that had always held him away at a distance, reminding him that no matter how desperately he reached out, he would never be able to truly touch her, to hold her or be held or have anything _real_ from her, no matter how much he might need it.

As he had good reason to know now, that air of his mother's-- his _real_ mother-- had always been a façade, constructed by her to protect herself, yes, but mostly, confusedly, _him._ She had never meant to push him away, had grieved over the distance as much as he had, with no more idea than he how they might bridge it. 

This Thor had spoken of his mother's love for her Loki, her belief in him, as if it was well-known. Perhaps this queen's motives were not opaque to those around her. Perhaps, in this reality, this queen's son could see past the surface, and knew all along that his mother truly cared for him. 

Or perhaps the Asgard he knew would have said the same things, assuming the queen loved her second son despite the lack of evidence. Perhaps this queen's son was just as confused and lost as he had been himself. Perhaps his mother was, too.

He was drawn back to the present by the queen's warm, soft voice saying calmly, 

"Come and sit with me. Captain, will you help-- "

Loki ignored the gauntleted hand reaching down toward him. He unfolded himself to rise to his feet. One benefit, he supposed, of these absurd leather trousers was, they protected one's knees should one find oneself taken prisoner or offering courtesies to royalty who failed to consider the supplicant's discomfort.

The change of position as he rose caused him to feel momentarily giddy. The trapped magic within him kicked and struggled violently. As he brought his bound hands to his chest, in a useless gesture of placation, he was struck with another fit of coughing that hurt his ribs and stomach nearly as much as the angry magic. His vision darkened briefly and stars sparkled before his eyes as he twisted himself to smother the paroxysm in his sleeve.

There were hands on his elbows, firm but not harsh, and Loki allowed himself to be steered. A chair was pressed suggestively against the backs of his legs and he obediently sat.

When the fit had passed, Loki found himself at one end of the council table, flanked on both sides by guards, facing the queen-- who did look worried now-- at the other end. He sniffled as well as he could, aware of the humiliating state of his nose but unable to do much about it. Then he placed his bound hands on the tabletop before him and waited for the queen to address him.

She leaned forward slightly. 

"Who are you, child," she asked, "and how come you to be in Asgard?"

Despite the condition of his sinuses, Loki suddenly found himself able to breathe. 

~oOo~

_Pain._

He could no longer remember what it felt like, to not be in pain. Before the void, the pain had been in his mind and heart. He had been unable to sleep, or eat, or concentrate, his plans spiralling into lunacy, fuelled by exhaustion and anger and pain. 

Later, in the void and after it, he had also experienced physical pain, more pain than he had ever imagined could exist, certainly more than he had believed could be borne. It turned out anything could be borne if one had no choice. One endured. 

Lacking the option to die, one endured.

There had been a little respite while he was in the hands of the humans. Until the green beast, they had added little to his suffering. They had, of course, not had time to begin-- he was quite sure they had questions for him, demands to make of him, and such questions and demands were always accompanied by bright bursts of agony. 

Somewhere in his mind he was aware this pain was really not so bad, he had felt worse-- much worse-- but he was _tired._ He was so terribly _tired._ Lifetimes of pain with no hope of escape, of rescue or comfort. 

These creatures could not hold him, as the Other had held him. They could not force him to remain alive for the pain to continue.

He had only to let go.

~oOo~

"You're lucky it didn't attack you, too," Agnes scolded Annie, as the group reached the pink house. "A charm that powerful could certainly cause some sort of injury to a ghost. What were you _¬thinking?"_

"It _could,"_ Mitchell spoke up before Annie could. "But it _wouldn't._ At least, it wouldn't hurt _Annie."_

"And how could you possibly know that?" Agnes argued, as Mitchell opened the front door and ushered Thor inside with his burden. 

Mitchell just barely didn't roll his eyes. "Because _Loki_ set it. And he clearly took the trouble to personalize the rhino's reactions. Believe me, a spell set by _Loki_ isn't going to harm _Annie._ If she was trying to set that mosque _on fire,_ the rhino probably would have held the matches for her. Not that she'd do a thing like that, obviously."

"Obviously," Annie murmured, and hurried into the lounge behind Thor. "How is he?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she fussed, "Put him right here, on the sofa. Is he all right? Loki, are you all-- " 

She broke off in horror, reaching out to cradle Loki's head in her hands. His face was by now a gory horror show, and only the fact his eyes were closed kept him from looking dead. Annie had to lean forward to detect his breathing. Thor knelt on the floor beside the sofa, looking helpless. 

"I should take him to Asgard," he said, "to our healers, but I fear-- I fear his reaction-- "

"What's this? A party?" George asked innocently, as he-- but mercifully not Nina-- walked through the door behind the others. "Hello, Thor, when did you-- ? Oh my God, Loki!" He started forward, then hesitated in confusion. "Wait, why's he wearing-- " George looked closer, and his face screwed up in confusion. "That's not him, is it?"

"No," Annie said briefly, and Mitchell tugged at his arm, pulling George out of the way as Agnes and Catherine moved forward. Agnes, whose skill in the healing arts had been honed at least since medieval times, rested one hand on Loki's forehead and the other on his chest. She murmured some words the others didn't understand, and then her hands were bathed in a soft golden glow. She remained still for a few moments, murmuring under her breath, as the glow intensified. Loki shifted slightly, and then-- he looked so utterly out of it that no one had realized how tense he still was-- relaxed a little bit. Agnes, with no sign of distaste, ran a hand over his long filthy hair and paused again with her glowing hand cradling the back of his head. 

After a moment she sat back on her heels, looking thoughtful. 

"There is a great deal of damage," she said quietly. "Internal injuries, broken bones-- some of them fresher than others, but I think every one of his ribs is cracked, and several vertebrae up and down his spine. There is also bleeding in his brain-- he's taken a terrible pounding from someone-- "

"By those who did _that_ to him?" Thor asked grimly, indicating the muzzle. 

"Possibly," Agnes agreed. "And there is also… someone has been _in_ his brain."

_"In?"_ Mitchell asked, as Annie shifted to hold Loki's hand protectively. 

"Yes," Agnes replied, looking thoughtful. "Some sort of control was, I think, crudely applied. I do not mean the control itself was crude, it may have been extremely sophisticated, but there was little care given to whether it caused harm."

"It's no longer there?" asked Catherine, with clinical interest. Annie would have thought her unfeeling, except of course that everyone in the room apart from the witches was so upset right now it was a relief to have someone remaining detached, like an A & E doctor. 

"No," Agnes said, and with a whisper sent another glow of magic around Loki's battered head. 

"But you know someone was there?" George asked, edging closer. "How?"

Agnes glanced up, a grim little smile playing about her lips. "Imagine you had left your village to go hunting, and in your absence raiders came. When you returned, you found your dwellings in flames, your livestock and provisions gone, and the bodies of your women and children littering the ground. Would you need to _see_ the raiders, to know they had been there?"

George stared at the woman, momentarily distracted. "Was that still happening in the fourteenth century?" he asked, referring to the time when Agnes had been a contemplative religious as well as a witch, the time when the people of the Midlands had begun to call her "Black Annis."

"No," Agnes replied quietly. "I am… older. I have been in Britain for a very long time, long before the new religion came."

"Can you heal him?" Annie spoke up, returning to the main issue. 

"And can you _free_ him?" Mitchell chipped in. 

Catherine spoke up suddenly. "The question may not be _can_ we. It might properly be, _should we?"_

There was a sudden crackle of electricity in the room, and Thor checked himself, as though he thought to stand. He remained on his knees next to the sofa, but everyone was aware of him becoming somehow even larger.

"Will you explain yourself?" he asked, in a carefully gentle voice. Annie automatically reached out with her free hand to touch his shoulder, more in comfort than restraint. 

Catherine didn't look a bit intimidated. Annie, who knew only that Catherine had been alive as far back as the seventeenth century, suddenly wondered how old _she_ was, whether both witches were actually older than Thor and Loki. She, too, kept her voice calm as she replied,

"You are all forgetting, this is _not_ your brother, _not_ your friend. This is _not the Loki you know._ There is every possibility that he came to harm through actions of his own, and we have no way of knowing _what he will do_ if we free him."

"So you're suggesting we leave him like this?" Annie demanded. "Just-- let him _die_ here in the lounge?"

Catherine sighed. "No. I'm not suggesting that," she admitted. "Just… even your Loki has done terrible things." She raised a hand to forestall the protests of the housemates. "I know he wouldn't do them again, but he _did them._ At one point, he was capable of them. And the Loki in the myths-- which your Loki had admitted may well be true in another reality-- can be a dangerous, even malignant figure."

"Depending on the version of the story," George argued. 

"Stories travel, remember?" Catherine pointed out. "Somewhere, they might all be true, and this Loki might have come from one of those stories. I think it would be a mistake to trust him too much, too soon. If he gets his powers back, we don't know what he might do."

Annie's lips tightened. "But if we don't do anything-- if _you_ don't do anything-- he's probably going to _die._ We can't let that happen."

Agnes looked from Annie to Catherine, and then said quietly, 

"Have you noticed the dog?" 

Everyone looked across the room, toward Scamp the ghost dog. There was no sign of Philip or Elizabeth, Loki's kittens, but the little black dog sat on the daybed, flopped-over ears cocked forward and her delicate little face interested.

Annie's face lit up with relief. "Scamp isn't worried about him."

That was a pretty important point, since Scamp, in addition to being a ghost, was a rescued Church Grim who, if she sensed danger to the household, would do an excellent imitation of the Hound of the Baskervilles. 

Catherine frowned, obviously still worried. But the Grim's whole purpose was to identify and fend off threats. 

"It's worth the risk," Agnes said quietly. "And… there are ways of controlling the threat. I can temporarily stabilize him, and then I will have to return home to look up another spell. I'll need your help."

Catherine nodded. "All right."

Agnes turned back to the figure on the sofa.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In case anyone was wondering, my cat ended up having surgery but is making a brilliant recovery, and now we're out of January I hope things settle down some! 
> 
> I do realize I'm being a bit cavalier about who's running Asgard in the Allfather's absence, but… well, it's not like Asgard isn't used to that. 
> 
> Also, since I don't read the comics I've ignored the business about Loki weighing as much as a fair-sized pony. It's just easier for the housemates if he doesn't.
> 
> **Warnings:** A certain amount of emotional (mostly) whump. Also, I know nothing at all about ritual magic, so certain elements of this chapter are being hand-waved in a big way. I ask your indulgence about that.

"I know you are not my son," Frigga said. Her voice, thankfully, held no accusation, was perfectly calm. Still, with his new experience at perceiving the feelings of his mother, Loki was almost positive he could hear a tremor deep underneath.

"My lady-- " Ingjaldr began, with a worried glance at his underling. Of course: if the queen was ill or incompetent-- or, Norns forbid, as mad as her son-- the evidence should be concealed from the common soldiery. 

"There is no need to fear, captain," Frigga said evenly. "My wits have not turned, nor have I been enchanted." 

Well, of course the guards would suspect Loki of something. Loki kept his eyes on his shackled hands, shoulders tense as he waited for their reaction. 

"Of course not, my lady," Ingjaldr said uneasily.

Frigga smiled tensely. "You think me mistaken, or worse. And yet you came to me yourself, to report an inexplicable change in the state of your prisoner-- a prisoner whose powers were bound. Who must have been weakened since his arrival in your cells. Tell me, is it truly harder to believe this is the same Loki, who cast off his restraints and then chose to stay and wait to be captured, rather than accepting this is a different Loki brought here by some misadventure?"

"Both are difficult to believe, my lady," Ingjaldr murmured. 

The queen's smile became more genuine. "I agree. But there are universes and realities beyond ours, and I know enough of magic to recognize unfamiliar powers when I sense them." She looked directly at Loki for a moment, then added, "And my son has not… has not looked so, so… since long before our troubles began." 

"His clothing, too-- " began the second guard, speaking for the first time. The young man abruptly fell silent, his expression conscious of having forgotten his place. 

"His clothing?" Frigga prompted. Loki felt a flush of relief that someone besides himself knew of and remembered that detail. The captain had spoken for his men, but Loki did not remember whether he had actually been present when the door was first opened, or if he had arrived a little later and had the story then. 

The younger guard-- Loki did not know him, or rather his own reality's equivalent-- looked embarrassed. When the queen gestured, however, he went on:

"When, when we opened the door, my queen, he was garbed very strangely. In soft garments, nothing like those in which he was handed over to us, and holding some sort of… a sort of bed-covering around his shoulders."

"Is this true?" Frigga asked, addressing Loki. Anyone could have pointed out the folly of asking _Loki,_ of all people and in these circumstances, to verify the _truth,_ but the guards held their tongues. 

"Yes, my lady," Loki mumbled. The queen continued to look at him, and he explained, "I was in my pyjamas-- sleeping garments," he corrected himself: with no history of the British Raj, obviously Asgard also lacked the word _pyjamas._

The queen and the guards were all looking at him. Loki dragged his fever-tumbled mind back to the present and finally gave in to the distasteful necessity of scrubbing his nose on his sleeve.

"I was wearing my sleeping garments," he repeated, "because I have an illness called 'flu,' which is common among the humans of Midgard, and I was planning to retire early to bed. I live on Midgard," he added, quickly, as he recalled those earlier hints the imprisoned Loki had done something appalling on that realm. "In the kingdom of Great Britain. I live there, and work, and sometimes I help my, my brother and his companions the Avengers, when they have need of magical assistance." The queen's expression was unreadable, and Loki, anxiety rising, tried not to fidget as he hastily went on, "As I say, I was feeling ill. My friends and I were discussing it when-- "

Loki nearly choked on his words. He had been rather careful, to this point, not to think very hard about Annie, George, and Mitchell, or the pink house, or the school, or any of the beloved friends and comforts that might now be lost to him. It was difficult enough to be taunted with this Asgard, and this family, with circumstances that could so easily have been his if he had not fallen, if his father had not intervened-- 

What if he really was trapped here? What if he could not find his way home, back to the reality in which his villainy had been stopped, and reconciliation offered, and he had been allowed to make amends and lead a better, less harmful life? Whatever this Loki had done must be really dreadful for Thor to be so angry. As much as he resented his treatment at the hands of this substitute brother, Loki knew perfectly well Thor must have a good reason for behaving so. And the idea of being trapped here to deal with the anger and disdain of this Thor, and this Asgard, while--

\-- While the other Loki was free to rampage at will in _his_ reality.

The thought was horrific, and shame swamped him. Even one as selfish as he should have thought of that possibility at once, should have recognized the danger to his own reality and everyone he held dear, instead of focusing on the inconvenience to himself--

He suddenly realized he had not completed his explanation, that the queen still waited. 

"I was sitting with my friends, in our dwelling, and was suddenly transported here, to the cell where these men found me. I do not know how it happened," Loki added. "I have no desire to cause trouble in your reality, I only wish to go home." 

The queen frowned. "How come you to be in this garb, if it does not belong to you?"

"Thor-- the prince. He thought it inappropriate for me to appear before you garbed as I was, and sent for things belonging to, to his own brother." As he spoke, Loki was conscious of how thin his story must sound, like the young woman protesting "It's a false nose" in the film about the Holy Grail. 

The film was one of his favourites, but he found himself entirely disinclined to laugh at the idea right now.

"That much is true," Ingjaldr reported. "Prince Thor sent guards to the storage rooms, to search out proper clothing for him to wear." The queen looked faintly puzzled, and Ingjaldr explained, "Prince Lo-- the prisoner's former chambers have been emptied out and cleaned, and his belongings disposed of. The chamber servants say this was done at the command of the Allfather, after… he fell into the void. Some of his clothing was placed in storage rather than being destroyed with his other possessions."

_After Loki's fall into the void._ That much they had in common, then. Loki wondered whether the circumstances leading up to the fall had been the same, and why then the Allfather's protections had been unable to forestall the other Loki's descent into evil. 

The expression on the queen's face made Loki's heart thump in alarm. This was, as the humans would say, _all news to her._ She had no idea what had become of her son's chambers, his possessions. _His_ mother had ordered his rooms preserved, had even enshrined his hateful horned helmet as a memorial to her lost child. She had believed him truly lost, dead or worse, but she had clung to her memories. This queen--

\-- This queen dealt differently with grief, was all. She was not Loki's own mother, was someone else entirely. It was unfair to expect her to behave exactly as _his_ mother had done. She had mourned in her own way, and there was no reason for her to visit his chambers if that was not part of her mourning. That did not mean she did not care. It did not mean that, for her, _out of sight_ was _out of mind._ It was clear she still cared for her second son. She _must_ still care.

_This Allfather had disposed of his son's effects_. 

Well, Loki argued to himself, well, he did not know how long the other Loki had been missing before that was done. It might have been a tremendous length of time. It might have been centuries. Or perhaps that other Loki was such a lifelong source of trouble and grief that his father decided a clean break was necessary, when they believed him dead. Perhaps it really had been a relief.

Loki's own father had never believed him dead, never thought him beyond hope, never gave up on Loki no matter how much he had deserved it. But no one could have blamed the Allfather if he had done so: there was no question that Loki's actions had deserved disownment. 

And yet, he had not been disowned. The Allfather, his mother and his brother, all of them had made up explanations in their minds, extenuating circumstances, reasons not to cast him aside as worthless. Loki was not at all sure he _believed_ them, but he was very grateful they had gone to such lengths to justify offering their hands to him once again. 

This Frigga had not disowned her son, either. She had _not._ It was simply unfair for him to think of her as if she was his own mother, when she was someone else, a mother who had also grieved in her own way. He must not think like this. 

And he must not think of this Allfather at all.

"You have no idea how the exchange was made?" Frigga asked now, leaving aside the matter of his garments. 

"None, my lady," Loki replied, making a convulsive movement with his hands that would have been wringing, had the manacles permitted him to bring them together. "There was a sort of flash, and I felt rather giddy-- it was a sensation a little like traveling by the Bifrost-- " he wondered, too late, whether it would seem suspicious that he knew about the Bifrost, if this Asgard had one. But the queen was nodding, without any sign of increased suspicion, and he went on, "When my head cleared, here I was."

"Perhaps Loki-- _our_ \-- I mean, the Loki we had imprisoned-- effected the change," offered the young guard. 

"His magic was bound," Ingjaldr pointed out. "And he did not seem to me to be in any condition for tricks, let alone such a feat of magic."

"Yes sir, but with respect, he… he is-- " The young guard broke off, glancing at the queen. 

Who sighed. "Yes, I am aware of my son's failings. And of his power. And, since there seems to be no reason for this child to deliberately place himself in such an uncomfortable position, the only reasonable explanation is that my son engineered his own escape, leaving someone else to take the blame. I apologize for that," she addressed Loki. Who, since he could think of nothing to say in return, held his tongue. 

"What will we do, my lady?" asked Ingjaldr.

"Send for Thor," the queen replied. "If this Loki's place is on Midgard, that is where my son must be." 

"My lady?" Ingjaldr could not quite keep the note of anxiety from his voice. 

Loki sat very still and tried to conceal his own rising apprehension. Had she failed to grasp the point about _separate realities?_ The Midgard of _this_ reality was _not_ the Midgard where he was known and welcome. Indeed, if he had been correctly interpreting the scraps of information flying back and forth past him, _this_ Midgard was the _last_ place he would be wanted, except in the sense of _by law enforcement._

Although… 

At least he would be out of Asgard, out of its cells and away from its soldiers who were trained and experienced in containing sorcerers. It was, of course, possible that magic was an everyday thing on this Midgard-- perhaps _Azkaban_ was real here-- but Loki was willing to risk it. He had no choice: he _had_ to risk it. The humans had a saying, _better the devil you know,_ but the great disasters of Loki's life had always arisen out of his choice to cling to people and circumstances that made him unhappy, rather than having the courage to break away and find something better for himself. 

Being sent to Midgard would not _solve_ his problems, not the way the queen seemed to think, but it could hardly make them _worse._ At a minimum, they would at least be _different_ problems. 

Frigga turned to the captain, her mouth set. "Please send for Prince Thor," she repeated. Ingjaldr gave in, sending his man-- who looked relieved beyond words to go. 

As soon as the door closed behind the young soldier, Frigga leaned forward. 

"Captain, there is something terribly wrong here. I agree that my son is certainly responsible, but keeping _this_ child imprisoned will do nothing to resolve matters." She looked troubled for a moment. "And… the Allfather is very angry. There will be retribution for what happened on Midgard. Whatever we do must be done before his return. Otherwise-- "

_Otherwise, this Loki will remain imprisoned by an Allfather more interested in vengeance than in listening to explanations. Than in trying to help his foundling son._

"Surely, though-- " Loki said, before he thought. He hastily fell silent, but he had caught Frigga's attention.

"Surely-- ?" she prompted. 

"Surely the Allfather will also be able to tell I am not, am not _his_ Loki," he argued, his voice faltering as he watched the queen's expression change. Her smile was wintry as she replied, 

"I think you should not, perhaps, count too heavily on that. It seems wisest, to me, that you leave before his return. So far, the Allfather has given no orders concerning you-- Thor was left in absolute charge of his brother's fate, and… I still have some influence with Thor."

Loki glanced at Ingjaldr, who remained impassive, and back at the queen, who seemed to trust his discretion. He wondered if this sort of maneuvering also occurred behind the scenes in his Asgard, despite the united front presented by his parents. He hoped not.

And he hoped, very much, the queen was not overestimating her own sway over her remaining son. 

~oOo~

Agnes and Catherine conferred quietly in the kitchen for a while, emerged to ask for notepaper and pens, then retreated again. In the meantime, Annie fetched a basin of warm water, a washcloth, and a couple of towels. Thor carefully lifted Loki's head and shoulders so Annie could put the larger towel underneath. She then went to work carefully washing away as much of the blood as she could manage. 

It took several changes of water, which kept Mitchell busy going back and forth to the kitchen. He shrugged at Annie's pointed looks toward the beaded curtain, apparently unable to tell what the witches were doing. Either they had cast a spell of privacy around themselves, or Mitchell simply did not understand what they were talking about. Not that any of the others would have done much better. 

George finally went looking for Philip and Elizabeth, the kittens, returning to report they were curled up on Loki's bed in the old box room. 

"They don't look very happy," he reported, "but they seem to be all right."

"Do you suppose they can tell this isn't the right Loki?" Mitchell asked, earning a sharp glance from both Thor and Annie. 

"Don't call him that," she mouthed, tilting her head toward their apparently unconscious guest. 

"Either they can tell he's… a different Loki," George said carefully, earning an approving smile from Annie, "or they're upset by the confusion. I gave them a pullover out of his laundry basket, that should reassure them." Looking in need of reassurance himself, George edged closer. "Is he any better?"

"No," Annie admitted, carefully mopping a trickle of water from near Loki's hairline. "He's hardly breathing. Whatever Agnes and Catherine have planned, I hope they don't take very long."

Just at that, the two women pushed aside the beaded curtain and emerged from the kitchen. Thor and the housemates looked at them with anxious hope. 

Catherine spoke for the pair. "We think we know what spells to cast, and what equipment we'll need for them. George and Mitchell, can you come help us collect everything?"

"Of course," Mitchell agreed. 

"What should we do?" Annie asked, glancing at Thor who, for lack of any specific task to do, was holding Loki's hand. Scamp had abandoned the daybed in favour of sitting with her chin resting on his knee, in an obvious gesture of canine comfort. 

Agnes looked thoughtful as she addressed Thor. "What you're doing right now is probably the best thing you can. There's no telling whether he knows you're there, and he's clearly not as-- " she hesitated before saying delicately, "attached to his brother as the Loki we know is to you, but giving him an anchor should help him. And it really is all you can do right now."

Thor's face was miserable as he looked down at the man who was not his brother, but he didn't let go of his hand. Catherine patted his shoulder, and the boys and the witches left the house.

It took nearly an hour for them to return, all of them carrying cotton shopping bags that bulged mysteriously. By this time, of course, it was well past midnight and Annie was grateful to remember that both Mitchell and George had the day free from work. She didn't know what sort of cover Agnes used to hide in plain sight in Bristol, whether she had a job, but poor Catherine at least was going to be very tired when she opened her teashop in a few hours. 

She didn't seem to be thinking about that as she helped Agnes. The two witches went into the kitchen again and, as far as the friends could tell, did something with a saucepan of boiling water. When they returned to the lounge they moved the coffee table and drew a chalk circle on the floor. Then, working counter-clockwise, they used what seemed to be salt and herbs to embellish it, murmuring as they did so. 

As they closed the circle at the top, the whole marking glowed into life, and Agnes said quietly, 

"Thor, will you-- ?" 

It took him a moment to catch her meaning, but then he carefully gathered Loki into his arms. He carried him to the middle of the circle and set him gently down. 

"Thank you," Agnes said, in clear dismissal, looking only at Loki. Catherine glanced at their audience, who by now were huddled together on the sofa with Scamp sitting in Annie's lap. 

"We're hoping this ritual will neutralize the magic in the shackles binding him, so they can be removed," she explained. "But if it doesn't work, I'm afraid the only solution left will be to take him back to Asgard."

Thor nodded, looking conflicted and guilty. Annie reached over to squeeze his hand. This was a nearly-impossible situation for Thor: yes, Asgard was the obvious place to take this Loki for help. But if his reaction to Thor was anything to go by, Asgard was the last place this Loki would expect to receive any, and his panic on finding himself there might really turn dangerous, to himself if not to everyone around him. Having to be subdued by force would hardly be helpful to his physical condition or his state of mind. 

"I understand," Thor said quietly, and Scamp leaned across Annie's lap to rest her chin on his knee. 

The witches returned to their ritual, murmuring incomprehensibly and moving around the circle, each staying one hundred and eighty degrees away from the other, their movements carefully measured. 

It took a moment, but the light in the circle glowed more strongly. And then the runes themselves, in the metal of the restraints, also began to glow. As the witches continued to circle, their murmuring turned into a quiet chant, and the runes shone brightly, as if the metal was red-hot. Loki showed no signs of discomfort, or even of noticing what was happening. 

After about a quarter of an hour, the witches stood still, hands raised, facing each other across the circle. The light began to fade. The runes dimmed. 

The witches stepped into the idle of the circle and knelt beside Loki. Catherine raised his head, and Agnes reached for the fastening at the back of the muzzle. 

There was a quiet _click._ Working carefully, she lifted it free, gently pulling a flat paddle-like projection out of Loki's mouth. His lips were cut and bruised, but the blood leaking from his mouth seemed to have slowed. 

Agnes set the muzzle aside with a gesture of distaste, and moved on to the shackles. A moment later they were added to the pile, and Catherine put her hands on Loki's chest. 

"His magic is very weak right now," she remarked. "I could try some sort of binding spell-- "

"No," came the chorus from the sofa, and Scamp sat up, looking anxious. 

"That's-- we can't do that," Annie protested, speaking for all of them. "You can't bind his magic without hurting him. I don't know if it works the same way for you and Agnes, but you can't mess with Loki's magic and not hurt him."

"But this isn't the same Loki," Catherine pointed out patiently. 

_"We don't care,"_ Annie snapped. "We still don't want you to hurt him."

"I only meant that his reaction might be different," Catherine said, still calmly. "Still, you're probably right that it's safest to wait before we do anything."

"I believe there are other possibilities," Agnes spoke up. "Neither of us is expert in control spells, but I seem to have heard of something-- I can investigate."

Catherine nodded. "And for tonight, at least, there should be no danger, especially if Thor is here. Tomorrow we can try something with the least risk of injury we can manage." She smiled quickly at Annie, who settled back on the sofa. Catherine was practical rather than vengeful, and the housemates all knew it. She wouldn't want to hurt Loki, but she was more willing than the others to do what was necessary. 

"In the meantime," Agnes said, "I can do a certain amount of healing with magic, and we've made a tea of shepherd's purse and geranium, which will help with the internal bleeding. The rest will be up to him." Glancing at Catherine, she added, "He will need all the magic he has for that." 

"Yes, yes, agreed," Catherine said tolerantly. It occurred to Annie that Catherine was not really playing devil's advocate, as much as she was trying to ensure one person in the group was looking out for their own safety. Annie decided not to hold this against the witch, but she didn't back down. 

Agnes, meanwhile, was murmuring again, her hands glowing. She cradled Loki's head for a long moment, then moved her hands down his torso, resting them on his ribcage and then sliding her right hand underneath his body to his spine. Her face was set in concentration, and after a moment Loki shifted uneasily and muttered. Aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest, it was the first indication he'd given that he was still alive. 

"Loki?" Agnes said gently. "Loki, open your eyes."

Loki did. 

~oOo~

Rather to Loki's surprise, Thor did not argue with the queen when she explained her request. 

"I want you," she said, "to go to Midgard, find your brother, and take this child back where he belongs."

"And Asgard-- ?" Thor prompted.

"I can take up the regency," Frigga replied. "I cannot find my way around Midgard as you do. Please do this, my son."

"Of course," Thor murmured, and now Loki was beginning to feel suspicious of this acquiescence. There was little he could do, however, and so (hands still shackled) he bowed to the queen and followed Thor out of her presence. 

As the door closed on the queen's chamber, Thor turned. Loki took a half-step backward, not quite shrinking from him but definitely seeking to get his throat out of range of his not-brother's hands. 

Thor moved right along with him, and Loki found himself backed into a wall with his not-brother looming over him. He tried to tell himself that this Thor was no larger than _his_ Thor-- who never loomed-- but he had little success. 

"I know you are planning something," Thor growled. Loki blinked. "You have some despicable scheme in mind for Midgard, and you have manipulated the queen into taking your part. You know as well as I that my comrades on Midgard are a match for you, as well as whatever allies you expect to help you."

"Thor," Loki began, trying to sound reasonable, "I have no plans. All I want is-- "

_"Be silent,"_ Thor commanded. Loki glanced around, to find the guards had left them. He did indeed feel very alone. 

And then Thor's hand was on his throat, thumb digging into the flesh of the side of his neck, and Thor was growling, 

"I will indeed return with you to Midgard. And you will _tell me_ your plans, and what further evil you intend. If you do not do so willingly, you will be compelled. I will not allow Midgard to come to further harm through you." Loki would have continued to insist that he had no ill intentions toward Midgard-- quite the opposite-- but when Thor released him Loki was seized with another of his coughing fits and was unable to speak. 

Not that Thor appeared to notice. He grasped Loki firmly by the upper arm and dragged him along as he strode, presumably, toward the Bifrost. With no choice to do otherwise, Loki followed. 

And found himself worrying quite a lot about what Thor had said about his comrades on Midgard, and their apparent relationship with this reality's Loki. 

He had a sinking feeling there would be no friendly teasing from Clint or Tony in his immediate future. 

~oOo~

It took a moment before Loki's half-open eyes seemed to come into focus. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, as if he didn't even have the energy to turn his head. 

"Loki?" Annie said gently, getting up from the sofa and moving forward to kneel beside him. "Loki." After a long moment, his eyes turned sluggishly toward her. Annie offered a watery smile. "Hi there." 

Not entirely to her surprise, Loki didn't smile back. He made an uncoordinated effort to sit up and Catherine, with practical kindness, helped him. Agnes left them to go to the kitchen, emerging a moment later carrying a heavy white mug full of a steaming liquid. 

She knelt beside Loki, holding the mug. "Here," she said calmly. "You should drink this. It'll help you heal." His expression reflected his doubts, but after sniffing at the contents he took a cautious sip, and then another. It crossed Annie's mind that thirst, rather than trust, was probably behind his acceptance of the healing tea. 

She tried not to remember the day _their_ Loki had arrived, falling from the roof into the dustbins. He had looked so lost that she had helped him inside and offered him a cup of ordinary tea. It hadn't occurred to him to refuse: he'd followed her inside as though he couldn't quite believe she was going to help him and didn't want to let her out of his sight. 

_This_ Loki couldn't believe it, either. Just not in the same way. 

But he did drink the tea. 

~oOo~

The drink he was offered tasted foul, but he was too parched to be proud. As he drank it, though, he could feel his pain and weakness begin to ebb. It was still difficult to form clear thoughts, but he was vaguely aware the woman who had offered him the drink could not be an ordinary mortal. It crossed his mind, then, to also wonder about the others.

He would… he would think on that later. 

When the cup was empty, he set it on the floor, wondering what would happen to him next. Whatever they decided to do, he knew he was unlikely to be able to defend himself from it. Still, so far they had not hurt him. Yet. 

There was movement from just within his line of vision. He turned his head-- and recoiled at the sight of the most unwelcome figure he could imagine. Thor made to rise from the padded seat, and Loki's sudden flinch brought renewed pain-- though under the circumstances he hardly noticed it. 

"Thor, maybe you should stay where you are," said a quiet voice, and another of the mortals approached him. Loki braced himself defensively, but there was no threat in the man's demeanour. This one was unfamiliar, fair-haired and snub-nosed, with the ridiculous spectacles so many humans wore slipping down his nose. As he came closer, Loki instinctively tried to scrabble to his feet. "It's all right," the mortal said, a squeaky note entering his voice as he flapped his hands in a curious gesture he apparently meant to be reassuring. "No one here is going to hurt you. Do you want help? Can I help you get up?" 

It crossed Loki's mind to flay the man for his idiocy-- _Do you want help?_ And what good, pray, would it do him to _want?_

It was too much effort to snarl. And then the man was holding out his hands, and the woman who lived here-- _Annie, her name was Annie--_ was on his other side, assisting him to his feet. 

"Can we get him upstairs?" Annie asked the fair-haired man. "He can sleep in my room."

"Oh. I thought he could-- " the man began. 

"He can have my room," Annie said firmly. There was… there was something… she meant something by her tone. It was too much trouble to think about. Loki permitted them to help him-- the man, at any rate, had his arm around Loki's torso, which seemed to hurt less than before. He could not feel Annie touching him although she stood quite close. Once, there was another anxious movement from the long seat, and Loki turned his head away. 

The room they had in mind was up a flight of stairs, which they mounted painfully. Halfway down a narrow uneven corridor, Annie paused. 

"Loki, do you want to have a bath before you go to sleep? Would that make you feel better?"

Little short of death could possibly make him _feel better,_ but the thought of being _clean_ again pierced the fog around his brain. 

"Yes," he croaked, speaking for the first time. "Yes, I would."

Annie smiled at him, and it was curious how something deep inside him, some knot of rage _(painfearhelplessness)_ seemed to loosen a little at the sight. "All right," she said. "George will help you, won't you, George? I'll go make sure the room is ready." There were, he knew, bitter and biting things he could utter about the likelihood of _any_ part of this hovel being made _ready_ for himself… but he said none of them. Annie gestured toward a door. "The bathroom is just here. I'll be back in a little while."

And she vanished. Loki stumbled in sheer astonishment, and the man-- _George--_ tightened his hold. 

"Sorry about that, she forgets herself sometimes. In we go," he said in a ridiculous singsong, like someone unused to children who is addressing one. Loki had hated such condescension from the nursery upward, although perhaps he hated it more now the condescension had followed him into adulthood.

Of course, it was easier to bear such a tone from someone who was actively _helping_ him, which this George seemed to be doing. Unless he intended to drown Loki in the bath, which… even to Loki seemed unlikely. 

"Okay," George said, talking to himself as much as Loki, almost as though he was narrating what he was doing, "you sit here, on the toilet, while I fill the tub. There are clean towels, I'll put them here to be handy, and here's your washcloth, by the soap dish. This is-- " He held up a bottle, looking embarrassed-- "it's called bath gel, it-- well, it smells nice. Do you want to try it?" When Loki did not respond, George started to put the bottle down. 

Realizing the mortal had taken his silence for refusal instead of acquiescence, Loki startled himself by speaking up: "I would… like to-- "

"All right," George said, uncapped the bottle, and poured a purplish fluid into the water as it steamed into the bath. A smell of lavender began to make itself known. He pointed to another bottle. "That's shampoo, you use it to wash your hair. I don't know if you know the word, our Loki didn't when he first came here." Loki nodded once, and George smiled at him. Then the mortal's face became hesitant. Awkwardly, he asked, "Do you-- are you okay getting undressed by yourself, or do you think you'd like some help?" 

It took Loki a moment to puzzle out the meaning of that sentence, and realize that, once again, this peculiar mortal was asking him what he _wanted._ It was difficult, now, to remember the last time that had happened. Centuries ago, before the void. Long before the void. 

In truth, he did not particularly wish to be assisted in undressing. It was not that he was unused to such assistance, not in the days when he had worn armour and employed servants. Those days, however, were gone, and he did not especially relish the idea of placing himself in such a vulnerable position with relation to another. 

And then he almost laughed, despite the lingering pain in his head and his ribs: _vulnerable._ Surely that word neatly summed up his condition. 

Still, of the creatures he had met since his… fall… surely these seemed the least interested in doing him harm?

"Yes," he finally said. And then, "I wish you to help me." _Please_ somehow stuck in his throat-- since his time in the void, the word felt painful on his tongue, a word uttered in helplessness and desperation he did not care to think upon, a word that made no difference to its hearer. 

"All right," George said mildly, and moved closer. Loki wobbled to his feet as the mortal approached him, unwilling to be _loomed over_ at such a moment. 

George, however, was kind, and a little embarrassed, and if his face went rather pale at the sight of Loki without his clothing, he said nothing. He helped Loki into the water without being asked, and then moved quickly toward the door. 

"Just call if you need me," he muttered. A moment later, Loki was alone.

There had been a time, it must be centuries ago, when a bath in hot scented water was the smallest of pleasures. He knew this, but somehow could not quite make himself believe it. Despite the sting of hot water and soap on his various lingering abrasions-- the healing spells the woman cast upon him seemed to work from the inside out-- Loki found himself nearly transported by bliss as he floated in the water. Only when the water began to cool did he go to work with the washcloth and soap. The water quickly became disgustingly murky, and then he worked out how to use the controls that produced the water, drained the tub, and refilled it. To his disappointment-- it was perhaps sharper than disappointment, it almost could be counted as _grief--_ the supply of hot water was not equal to a second full tub, but he managed half a tub, and there was a little more purple fluid in the bottle. The smell was somehow calming. 

Washing his hair was nearly the best thing of all, scrubbing his scalp with his fingernails as the pleasantly-scented _shampoo_ foamed through his fingers. It stung when some dribbled into his eyes, but this small inconvenience was easy to ignore. 

It was with real regret that he finally let the water run from the tub and reached for the towels. The hot water left him feeling rather dizzy, but he sat on the edge of the bath to dry himself and then reluctantly called for George.

Who knocked on the door before entering, an unexpected nicety. He was carrying a bundle that turned out to be soft trousers and a shirt, sleeping garments that he helped the increasingly-wobbly Loki to put on. 

And then they left the bathroom, walked down the odd narrow corridor to a sleeping chamber, one that any servant of Asgard would have scorned, but all Loki noticed was the bed with its invitingly turned-down linens.

And, on the table by the bedside, a glass of water and a plate containing slices of bread with cheese between them, the whole thing cut neatly into four triangles. 

"I'm sorry," George said as he assisted-- by this time he really did need assistance-- Loki toward the bed. "All we had for a sandwich was cheese and pickle." Loki did not really register the remark, his entire attention being focused on the plate. Had he been less parched he would surely have been drooling, and possibly also weeping a little. 

But he held very still, careful not to reach toward it. George had shown no signs of wishing to hurt him, but through hard-won experience he knew better than to make a move to _take._ One waited to be _given._

One generally waited a very long time. 

George, however, simply helped him to a comfortable chair positioned near the bed, and moved the table with the foodstuffs within easy reach. 

"You should probably go slowly with this," he said uneasily. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

And, no, Loki certainly did _not_ want to be sick, but he also wanted to snatch the food like a wild dog, snarling if George came too near. 

Instead, he picked up one of the triangles and took a bite. The flood of taste across his tongue was enough to stop him in his tracks: he had never tasted anything so vivid, so delicious. He found himself chewing with total concentration, unwilling to miss any of the sensation of _eating._

He ate the entire triangle, and drank a mouthful of the water, then another-- and then his appetite was gone. It was not exactly that he was sated, but he knew his belly would not hold another scrap. 

George waited for a moment, as if to be sure he had really stopped, and then picked up a square of cloth and laid it over the plate. 

"I'll leave that for you, next to the bed. So if you want to eat some more later, you can. Now, why don't you get in bed and get some rest?" He stepped closer to Loki, who had not even the energy to recoil, helped him to his feet, and propped him up as he took the few steps to the bed. 

The pillow under his head was soft, the mattress yielding beneath his body. George solicitously pulled the bedclothes up around Loki's shoulders, smoothing them as if his comfort mattered. Then he moved the table with the food within easy reach. 

"I'll leave the light on in the hallway, so you can see if you need to get up. You can call us if you need anything. I'll see you later."

The mortal withdrew through the open door. 

A moment later, Loki was asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In **Being Human** , Annie's teleporting abilities are given the verb "rentaghosting." As in, "Why didn't you just rentaghost home instead of walking all that way?" I haven't used the term in this series because, frankly, I didn't understand it and never thought to look it up until now. For non-UK readers, it turns out there was a British kids' comedy show called **Rentaghost** in the 1970s and 1980s, about a company that, well, rented out ghosts for various reasons.
> 
> If A!Loki was human, I'd do research on refeeding syndrome. Since he's not (and since he's tough enough not to be dead already) I'm handwaving away that particular risk. 
> 
> We've been spending a lot of time in Bristol over the past few chapters, because A!Loki's situation is the more complicated of the two at the moment. That is also true in this chapter, but I foresee it changing in the very near future. 
> 
> Incidentally, it's often accepted in fic that Loki has always been able to persuade Thor to do anything Loki wants him to do. That may be true in the comics (which I do not read) but going strictly by what we see in the movies, I honestly don't see much evidence of Loki talking Thor into do anything Thor didn't want to do in the first place. And there's a fair amount of evidence that Thor is in the habit of ignoring or shouting down Loki's words when they don't suit him. I see no reason not to apply that characteristic to one of the Thors in this story. Guess which one.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Some heroes are arseholes. I really can't stress that enough. Also, I am making some stuff up about the geography of Doomstadt and environs. And-- have some more characters. They may or may not be central to the rest of the story, but here they are for now.

Everyone in the lounge looked up when George came down the stairs, Philip and Elizabeth scampering in his wake. 

"How is he?" Annie asked. 

"I've never seen anyone that glad of a cheese and pickle sandwich," George replied as he gestured to Mitchell to slide over on the sofa. The kittens rushed to Thor, who was sitting in the big chair, and climbed into his lap, crowding at Scamp to give them room. "And if anyone's going down to the shops tomorrow-- today, I suppose-- we might pick up some more of that lavender bath gel. He really seemed to like it."

Mitchell made a face. "I don't blame him, he _reeked."_ Annie punched him on the leg, and-- keeping his voice down-- Mitchell insisted, "It's true, though. I keep thinking how much _our_ Loki would hate to be as dirty as that. And I don't like to imagine how long he's been wearing those clothes, either. Incidentally, George, what did you do with them?" 

"Nothing, yet. I left them on the bathroom floor. I suppose we could hang them up in the basement and air them out a little, at least until we figure out the best way to clean them. Thor, do you have any suggestions?" When there was no response, George repeated, "Thor?" 

"Yes?" Thor looked up from massaging the heads of the two importunate kittens, and it was clear he had not heard much of the conversation. 

Instead of repeating his question, George asked gently, "Are you all right?" 

Thor smiled tiredly. "It is not I you should worry about. Is my bro-- is _his_ physical condition as poor as it appears?"

George winced. "Probably worse. I didn't see any open wounds-- although there's quite a lot of what I think is dried blood smeared inside his clothing-- but he's all scraped up, and he's black-and-blue all over."

"He would be," Agnes remarked. "I was able to heal his broken bones and most of the deep internal damage, but I have never attempted such a complex healing-- a human with such injuries would not have survived long enough for me to get to him. It will probably take at least one more casting to completely heal him, if he allows me to do so."

George, grimacing, added, "And he's unbelievably thin. I mean, I know Loki-- _our_ Loki-- is _thin,_ but this guy is _bones._ I think he's been quite literally starved."

"In that case you'll have to be careful when you offer him food," Catherine said. "It would be very easy to make him quite sick if he eats too much too soon, although again, probably not as easily as a human." She cast a glance of distaste at the heap of metal lying abandoned on the floor and added, "It would also be good to know how he came to be wearing that lot."

"I suspect the answer is not one I will enjoy hearing," Thor said heavily. At the others' inquiring looks, he reminded them, "He fled in panic at the sight of me. And those shackles-- they are of Aesir design. The smithing is quite distinctive, as is the runework-- although I admit I have never seen exactly those runes in use before." He made a face. "I suspect we all know what manner of spell they are meant to cast."

"He said they didn't hurt him," Mitchell said suddenly. "Catherine asked him whether the shackles were causing him pain, and he shook his head. Remember?" 

"That's true," Catherine agreed.

"The shape he's in right now, he probably can't tell _what's_ hurting him or _why,"_ George muttered. His friends had to concede that he was probably right.

"Regardless," Thor went on, looking down at the loudly-purring kittens. He scrubbed his fingers from the tops of their heads down their spines, finishing by pulling gently on their tails. "His reaction made it clear he _recognized_ me, and he was _afraid_ of me. Whatever happened to him, whoever harmed him, _I_ was involved in it." 

Annie, George, and Mitchell looked at each other, and then Mitchell quietly got up and walked into the kitchen. Annie turned back to Thor. 

"Come on, Thor. You have to know that whatever happened, _you_ had nothing to do with it," she said firmly. Mitchell came back from the kitchen carrying a pink spray bottle. Thor eyed it suspiciously, and Annie said, with a smile, "Loki may have mentioned the bottle to you-- we use it when his brain starts running away with him." Mitchell squeezed the trigger a time or two to prime the spray mechanism. "Remarkably effective, it is," Annie went on sweetly. 

Thor's expression didn't lighten. "This really is not a moment for joking," he said reproachfully.

"No," Annie agreed. "It isn't. But it's also not a moment for wasting time beating yourself up for _things you didn't do._ We don't have _time_ for that, Thor. Yes, someone hurt him, maybe even some other Thor, in some other reality. But that Thor _wasn't you._ You know, and I know, that wherever our Loki is he wishes like anything you were there with him." Thor looked at her, chewing his lip. It was obvious that he wanted desperately to believe her, and equally obvious that was the reason he didn't quite dare. 

He looked so much like his brother that for a second Annie wanted to cry. 

"Anyway," Mitchell spoke up, "I'm not at all sure he ran because he recognized you. He might have run because you were big and wearing armour and he just felt cornered."

"He knew me," Thor insisted, but he sounded a little less certain. Under the circumstances, that counted as an improvement. 

"He was _scared_ of you," Mitchell corrected, making himself sound as confident as he could. "I wouldn't swear he recognized you. Anyway, Annie's right: we need to focus on what to do."

"Wait a minute," George said suddenly. "You said the shackles were Aesir. Did you mean the muzzle, too, or did you really mean _just_ the shackles?"

"The muzzle-- " Thor's expression of distaste became more acute-- "is not Aesir. It appears to be of Midgardian make, if I am any judge. What puzzles me-- " 

"Yes?" Agnes prompted, when Thor fell silent. 

"Well, perhaps this Loki is different," Thor mumbled. 

"Different how?" Catherine asked patiently, and George got it. 

"Incantations," he blurted. When the witches looked at him, he blushed and squeaked, "Loki, at least _our_ Loki, doesn't use incantations. His magic is all non-verbal: if he can concentrate, he can cast. There'd be no reason to gag him with a magic-binding muzzle to control his powers." 

"So, as Thor said, maybe this Loki's magic is different," Agnes suggested. "Or the people who captured him wanted to make certain."

"Or maybe they just did it for spite," George said. "Just to make sure he felt as helpless and humiliated as possible."

"Or all of the above," Mitchell agreed. 

"Or maybe this Loki also has a reputation as a persuasive silvertongue," Catherine said. "Perhaps the muzzle was intended to stop him convincing his jailers to let him go."

Annie stared at her. "He's been starved for Lord knows how long, and beaten within an inch of his life. Does he _look_ like anyone has been _listening to him?"_

"Well, no," Catherine admitted. 

Thor looked sick again. Scamp climbed back up into his lap and worriedly licked his face. 

~oOo~

In spite of his exhaustion-- his condition had really not been conducive to peaceful slumber in the cells of Asgard, and the _inducements_ of his... allies... had included ensuring he was unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time-- Loki still woke several times in the night, jerking awake from dreams of falling, or of being thrown. He lay very still, listening to the sounds of the little dwelling. 

The first time he woke, the light outside his half-open door was bright enough to illuminate his chamber. He could see the comfortable chair, and a darkened fireplace, and the storage chest for clothing. 

And beside the bed, on the little table, was the covered plate and the glass. Loki lay there for a long time, looking at them. Once he reached out and touched them with his fingertips, reassuring himself they were no illusion. 

No punishment followed. 

Eventually, Loki gathered his courage and slipped his hand under the cloth, feeling for the shape of a little triangle of bread and cheese. He pulled the warm, soft bedclothes higher around his neck, half-concealing his face, so that anyone looking through the doorway would have difficulty seeing what he was up to. Reluctant as he was to turn his back on the doorway, this was the best concealment he could manage.

He ate silently but voraciously, closing his eyes as he savoured sharp cheese, crunchy tart bits of vegetable, and soft crusty bread. Emboldened, he took up the glass and carefully drank. 

The next time he woke, the light outside the door was dim, as if a smaller lamp was now employed, and the house felt still and sleeping. Loki cautiously stole and ate another triangle of bread and cheese, then drank until the glass was empty. 

He regretted it later, when he woke from a dream that left the taste of blood in his mouth, parched with thirst, and found there was no water left for him. Cursing his own profligacy, he lay there taunted by the empty glass. It was curious how, now he had partly satisfied his thirst, its return seemed unbearable despite the fact he well knew it could, indeed, be borne. 

As he lay there, swallowing to coax moisture into his throat, he found himself thinking of the bathing chamber, with its convenient source of water. It was noisy, he remembered, when the water poured into the tub. Even if he crept into the chamber without being caught, could he possibly fill his glass and return to this chamber without being caught?

And what would happen if he was? So far, these mortal creatures had shown no inclination to hurt him. At least not of their own actions. But they-- they had brought...

 _Thor._ Thor was here, and now Loki could think more clearly he knew that had to mean he would be returned to Asgard, chained and muzzled again and left to rot in a cell. He should flee. He _must_ flee, escape at any cost. Now his mind was clearer, he could not imagine returning to his imprisonment. Thor was here, and that must mean these mortals had brought him, and that meant... that meant he was not safe here after all, no matter what kindness the mortals feigned. He must leave this place and, and--

\-- And face the monster that waited for him beyond the walls of this dwelling. Loki's heart turned over as he remembered it, the whirlwind of powerful magic and the nightmare creature that charged out of it to attack him. Surely that beast, huge and armoured and hideous, with its murderous horn-- surely it was out there waiting for him, keeping him confined until, until Thor dragged him back to Asgard?

He would think of a way to get past the magical guardian, a spell that would help him. He _would._ With the shackles removed _(why?)_ his mind and his magic would recover. Surely he could think of a way to elude the monster-- think of somewhere to go. With his tongue freed (again, _why?)_ he could persuade, and trick, and convince--

Thor would not listen to him. Thor had never listened to him, except for the basest flattery, except when Loki presented an excuse for actions Thor already wanted to take. Except for those times, Thor had never listened, and after the recent debacle he had made it clear he never would listen again. Once he had trusted Loki, if one could call his careless assumption of fealty _trust._ Now he knew Loki was not his creature, had ideas and wishes and plans of his own, Thor would never be so disregarding again. A Thor who was vigilant was not a Thor who could easily be got round. 

Still, somehow... He would escape somehow. He could not go back, he could _not._

His head ached with thinking and thirst, while his throat felt dry and sticky. The longer he lay there the worse the discomfort became. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He knew what he was risking by leaving this room, what might happen if he was caught sneaking and creeping, but risk it he would. 

He pushed back the covers, sat up carefully. He remained still for a moment, listening, fingers clenched tight around the blankets. Then he pushed himself to his feet, regretting the lost warmth, the soft bed. Nothing short of the desperation of his returning thirst could have compelled him to leave such comforts a moment earlier than he had to, a moment before being dragged. But his head was beginning to pound and it was difficult to think of anything except the imagined sensation of cool water sliding down his throat. 

He walked to the door on careful bare feet, trying not to disturb the floorboards of the old dwelling, to cause a telltale creak. The light in the hallway was a tiny one, set low on the wall, and it caused long strange shadows to reach toward him. He thought he saw a horned beast, and froze momentarily. Then he steeled himself and began the careful trek toward the bathing-chamber and its source of water. 

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Loki could see the odd corners of the narrow hallway, the random little steps that led up and down. And he could see open doors leading into other bedchambers. Loki was very careful not to approach the first two.

The third room was so tiny he did not have to approach the doorway to see inside: from where he stood the bed was clearly visible, as was the shape of the body lying in it. Loki hesitated, struck still by surprise as he recognized the occupant of the bed. 

Thor-- nearly too large for the bed to accommodate him-- was curled on his side, hugging a pillow. There was a small, dark heap huddled next to his face, and as Loki paused, another tiny black-and-white figure stretched, then stared at Loki with bright accusing eyes. It was hard to imagine the golden prince of Asgard willingly sleeping in such quarters, but here he was, and Loki certainly did not want to wake him.

Loki stepped backward, clutching the empty glass in both hands, and turned silently away.

"Are you all right?"

Loki swallowed his gasp of surprise and terror, nearly dropping the glass, and Annie raised her hands in hasty apology.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean to scare you." She glanced down at what he was carrying. "Oh, do you need some more water? Here, I'll get that for you. Go back to bed." Loki dimly realized he was gaping at her-- whatever he thought would happen if he was caught, this was definitely not it-- and abruptly closed his mouth as Annie took the glass from his hands. "Really. Go back to bed. I'll just be a minute." She turned and disappeared down the hall. Left alone, unsure exactly what was happening, Loki finally retreated back to the bedchamber. He was confused and anxious, but hardly stupid enough to linger outside Thor's very door. Especially not with those accusing little eyes upon him. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when Annie returned, carrying a larger glass of water, and another plate bearing slices of apple and wedges of a fragrant orange fruit.

"I hope you like clementines," Annie said quietly, as she nudged aside the sandwich plate to set down the new vessels. "Our Loki likes them a lot, but he wasn't used to them when he got here." Loki briefly wondered what that meant, _When he got here,_ wondered _how_ that other Loki had come to be living in this shabby little dwelling. 

And then the question was forgotten as Annie went on, hesitantly, 

"We... I don't know if we're right about this, but Thor is worried that you're scared of him. If you are, please... you don't have to be. I don't know what happened to you before you got here, or if, if you had problems with your brother-- " By now, Loki was in control of himself again, and so did not snort with laughter-- "but _this_ Thor, _our_ Thor-- he really loves his brother. And our Loki loves him. He's not going to hurt you. None of us is going to hurt you. Please believe me."

It was apparent, unless this young woman was a far more skilled liar than Loki-- or even Odin-- that _she_ believed her own ridiculous assertion. Loki had the wisdom to pick his quarrels, and so he simply nodded. He had the impression his appearance of acquiescence did not entirely convince Annie, but she did not argue. He drank a little of the water, ate a wedge of sweet, juicy orange fruit, and then allowed Annie to shepherd him back into bed. 

She, too, made the peculiar gesture of smoothing the bedcovers around his shoulders, and smiled at him as she turned toward the door. Once again, Loki felt something loosen deep inside him, something that had been curled defensively in on itself begin to relax. 

This time, when he slept, he did not dream.

~oOo~

It had not seemed possible that his stay in this looking glass-Asgard could possibly become any more unpleasant, but Loki failed to reckon on Thor's friends. Obviously, a universe that included a Thor would also include the friends of Thor, and, equally obviously, in this universe Loki was a criminal who had earned the hatred and contempt of those friends. It was just… he was not exactly friends with Sif and the Warriors Three in his own reality. Not quite. But it had been quite some time since he had needed to be on his guard against attack from them, and the sense of being flung headlong back into adolescence-- or, indeed, back into the time when madness licked at the edge of his consciousness-- was more than unsettling. 

"She wishes you to return him to Midgard?" Sif demanded, glancing at Loki-- who carefully pretended not to hear-- with anger and open contempt. "What for?"

Thor sighed. "You know my mother: ever forgiving, and much too willing to believe the best of him. Even with his most recent crimes-- "

Loki, sweating and light-headed though he was, fairly stood a-tiptoe with anxiety to hear exactly what these _most recent crimes_ encompassed, but Thor fell silent. 

"Could you not simply return him to his cell and command the guards to be silent about the matter until the Allfather returns?" Fandral asked. Loki was reminded that he had always hated the fool. "Your mother need never know."

"I would gladly do so, except that… he must have some scheme, some plan in mind," Thor replied. "And in making such a meal of his supposed connection to Midgard, he ensured the queen would send him there. It therefore follows that Midgard is where he wishes to be, for some purpose of his own."

"Reason enough to lock him back in the dungeon, and so thwart him," Sif pointed out, while Volstagg made noises of agreement and Hogun looked at Loki with assassin's eyes. 

"Yes, but if he has plans, he must too have allies, others who were to follow after his original army," Thor explained. 

_Other allies? His original army?_ Loki barely restrained himself from demanding information-- in this company, all that was likely to earn him was a blow. 

"And you wish to warn your Midgardian comrades," said Fandral. Well, perhaps he was not entirely a fool. Loki still detested him.

"Yes," Thor said shortly. "They defeated him once before, and will do so again."

"Well," said Volstagg, "if you need us, send for us. Now the Allfather has used the Tesseract to repair the Bifrost, we can easily join you."

"It would be great fun," Sif said, with another spiteful glance in Loki's direction. Pride overcame discretion, and Loki met her eyes squarely, conscious of a bubble of the old angry defiance rising within him. Sif took a step forward, the point of her sword pointing at his windpipe. Loki held his ground, too proud to retreat, and Thor raised a hand. 

"Enough, Sif," he said firmly. "I have need of him for now. And I will indeed send word if Midgard needs you." Casting a look of contempt at Loki, he turned back to his friends. "And now, I should leave for the Bifrost. Will you accompany me?" 

"Of course," Hogun spoke for the first time. 

"We have already ordered horses saddled," Volstagg said. "I was unsure whether you would want-- " he tilted his head toward Loki, who looked away.

"He needs no horse," Sif said scornfully. "Just a length of rope, to tie his shackles to Thor's saddle." 

Thor laughed. "That would indeed be fitting. But I am in haste, and so he must ride. See to it, will you, Hogun? The rest of us will meet you at the gates." The silent Warrior bowed his head and left them. Thor clamped a hand on Loki's shoulder, hard enough to hurt even through the heavy layers of his hateful Asgardian garb. Through clenched teeth he warned, "Do not try any of your tricks. My patience is nearly at an end with you." 

The bruises Loki could feel blooming on his throat suggested Thor's patience had never been exactly infinite. He knew better than to speak up. 

The horse brought out for Loki's use was not one he recognized-- which was a relief, really. The encounters with people he thought he knew had been unpleasant enough, without being disappointed by animals as well. The bay cob was the sort ridden by servants, with panniers for their goods, and Loki could only assume the intent was to shame him still further. However, the gelding stood like a rock to be mounted, which was helpful with his hands tied and no one to offer him assistance. Thor led them on a long rein as they crossed the bridge to Heimdall's observatory. Loki was rather out of practice at riding, and the bay's trot was an uncomfortably heavy, short-striding shamble that was difficult to rise to. Still, at least he was not being dragged along behind.

"Heimdall!" Thor shouted, as they drew near the observatory. "I must go to Midgard, to speak to Colonel Fury of SHIELD. Will you send me?"

Heimdall nodded without looking at Loki. Thor bid his friends farewell and shoved Loki toward the mouth of the Bifrost. A moment later, they were hurtling toward Midgard. 

Loki stumbled as he landed, was jerked upright by Thor's hand on his coat collar, and looked around at a ring of black-clad, helmeted figures pointing rifles at them.

"I wish to speak to Colonel Fury," Thor announced, in a ringing voice. 

Loki had a very strong suspicion that _he_ did _not._

~oOo~

As a seat of power, the bustling port city had little to recommend it: built up over centuries, its architecture was varied, and in many cases rather shabby, with little of the grandeur of the Latverian capital. In addition, it was choked with humans and the detritus of their lives and activities. Doomstadt, protected by the mountains as it was and with its population's activities tightly circumscribed, was a great deal more suited as a fortress. This city, this Bristol, would be nigh-impossible to defend from an attack by determined superheroes.

"That will be your responsibility," Wyndham said, with what looked perilously like a sneer. Doom would enjoy wiping it from his face when the time came. "Yours, and that of your sorcerer. Mine is to rally my kind." He looked up at an admittedly handsome building constructed of mellow red brick, with gracefully curving bow windows. "And here we shall find their… leader."

The tone in which Wyndham uttered the word was hardly calculated to inspire confidence. Neither was the revelation that this… leader… occupied only a fraction of the building, two flights of stairs above the street. The whole might have been a residence of suitable grandeur for an ally of Doom. A mere portion, a _flat,_ was beneath him. 

It was as well Doom had no real need of allies.

The door opened at the second knock, to reveal a jaded-looking yet handsome creature who, too, looked nearly human. 

"Wyndham," said the creature, without inflection. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Ivan," Wyndham replied, equally flatly. "Do invite us in. We have a… proposition for you."

"And you know how Ivan likes a proposition," said a new voice, as a young woman-- or something like a woman-- crossed the entry hall to take Ivan possessively by the arm, leaning into him with an unabashed sensuality that was echoed in every line of her, from her riotously curly hair to the short dress that draped itself suggestively over her attractive body. She turned to Doom with a look that combined salacious boldness with open mockery, and purred, "Who's your friend, Edgar? And really, isn't the mask just a little bit _much?"_

"Come in," Ivan said, rather wearily, and with little curiosity. He sounded as though, whatever the proposal might be, he assumed he had heard it all before. 

The _flat,_ Doom admitted to himself, was well-appointed and comfortable. It had the semblance of a dwelling for a human couple of taste, perhaps with interests in art and music. Ivan gestured his guests to a pair of comfortable chairs. The woman arranged herself upon a sofa, and Ivan continued across the room to a wooden cabinet, from which he produced heavy crystal tumblers and a bottle of whiskey.

"Drink?" he asked, gesturing to the bottle. "Daisy?" 

"Maybe if Mr. Mysterious takes off his mask," the woman replied, smirking.

"Not that kind of a drink," Ivan said tolerantly, handed round whiskey, then sat down beside Daisy. With an expression that adroitly combined courtesy with boredom, he leaned back in his seat. "Well, Edgar? What brings you here-- and at this hour?"

Wyndham held his glass to the light, then set it down without drinking. Doom waited to see how he approached this exchange.

"Things have been very… quiet… in Bristol recently, Ivan. Surprisingly quiet, really. There are those who are beginning to believe you lack… ambition."

"Is that… so?" Daisy replied, mimicking Wyndham's inflection. 

"Either ambition or nerve," Wyndham mused, ignoring Daisy. "After what happened to Herrick, we rather expected you to take control of the situation here. Show real leadership."

Daisy snarled silently at the accusing words, but Ivan looked mostly amused. "Oh, yes. Herrick's grand vision. The next step in evolution, taking our rightful place as rulers over humanity. That's _bound_ to go well."

"Are you saying Bristol is not prepared?" Wyndham demanded. 

"I'm saying Bristol isn't interested," Ivan replied bluntly. "Not without a lot more in the way of, for lack of a better word, _firepower._ The humans may individually be weak, but they have us outnumbered, and we all know how _creative_ they can be when they decide something is a threat. I'm not convinced the best course isn't to keep to the old ways."

"You prefer to slink in shadows, feeding in secrecy?" demanded Wyndham, his eyes gleaming red.

Daisy stretched. "More fun to keep a little mystery, don't you think?" she pouted. 

Wyndham rose to his feet, and Daisy looked momentarily uneasy. Ivan merely gazed at him with his head on one side. 

"Don't try the mind stuff on me, Edgar," he said mildly. "It works all right on the youngsters, but not me. All right, Daisy?"

"Of course," Daisy replied, moving closer to him. Ivan turned his head and smiled at her, then directed his attention back to Wyndham. 

"It's obvious there's something up, and you want Bristol involved. Well, tell me. As little as I like it, I'm in charge here, and I'll decide if there's enough benefit to us to join you."

"Bristol is not your personal fiefdom," Wyndham warned. Ivan was unimpressed.

"Isn't it? I had the impression that was how Herrick treated it. Only difference is, I keep things calm, and I keep things quiet. Herrick had a lot of big ideas, and look where they got him: turned to dust in a school playground, him and half a dozen others. I prefer a quiet life and a long one, and on the whole the others here agree. If you want to convince me otherwise, well, I'm listening."

"What about John Mitchell?" Wyndham asked suddenly. 

Ivan's face closed down. _Interesting,_ thought Doom. 

"Mitchell's out," Ivan said flatly.

"And you permitted this?" Wyndham asked. 

"I'm not his keeper, Edgar-- or his jailer. He wanted out, he's out."

"And wastes his time and his talents-- " 

"His business," Ivan interrupted, in the tone of one who brooked no argument. "If he comes back of his own accord, I'll be glad to have him, but I'm not going to twist his arm. Whatever he's off doing with his freaky little friends is no longer any of our business."

"Ah yes. His _friends."_ Wyndham smiled. "Interesting you should mention them."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Since I've only seen **The Avengers** once, I'm going on memory and making-up to describe an element of this chapter. Let's please just go with it.
> 
> This somehow turned out to be a short transitional chapter. Let's just go with that, too.
> 
> **Warnings:** Emotional whump.

Really, Loki was going to have to stop telling himself things could not possibly get worse, because so far all that had accomplished was tempt fate to prove him wrong. He stood next to Thor, held by the neck as though he was a recalcitrant pup, and tried not to show fear at the same time he also tried not to look directly at the soldiers surrounding him. They were only humans, he reminded himself, only men and women, and the fact their faces were covered by black screens-- which made them look rather like ants-- did not mean they _had_ no faces. 

They were not mindless creatures who would trap him, lock him away in filth and pain and look incuriously on his suffering. Surely... surely not.

"I wish to speak to Colonel Fury," Thor announced, in a ringing voice. The circle of guards did not waver, nor did they lower their weapons. They all stood as if frozen under the powerful lights of the flight deck, the world beyond shrouded in darkness, as if they were in a play waiting for the protagonist to make his entrance. 

Finally, one of the humans stepped forward. 

"Why is he back here?" the soldier demanded in a distorted, mechanical voice. Part of Loki's mind was aware the distortion was caused by some sort of device built into the mask to facilitate communication. Another part was almost amused at how closely the resulting voice resembled that of an Imperial soldier in the _Star Wars_ films. 

The remaining parts of Loki's mind, and his person, did not find anything about this situation remotely entertaining.

"I have become aware of further plots by him against your realm," Thor was explaining, and Loki really could not let that stand. 

"Thor, I _have no-- "_ He broke off as the rifles were concentrated on him, and Thor went on, 

"Colonel Fury must be apprised of the new threat, and the Avengers notified."

There was a pause in which Loki imagined gears whirring in the soldier's mind. Then he-- or perhaps she-- nodded. 

"All right. Step back from the prisoner, please." Thor did not look at all pleased to receive direction from the mortal, but he did as he was asked. Left isolated, with the ring of rifles trained upon him, Loki tried again. 

"There has been a misunderstanding." He projected all the sincerity he could manage as he looked from one ant-like face to the next. "I am not the Loki you know. I have no plans for Midgard, and my intentions are entirely peaceful. If you would just-- " 

Really, Loki did not expect the humans to simply take him at his word. It was centuries since he had been _that_ naïve. And they were guards only, had no power to release him even if he could make them believe in his innocence. But he was still disappointed when the spokesguard jerked the muzzle of his rifle in Loki's direction and commanded, 

"Shut up. Save it for Director Fury." The guard then fell silent-- well, nearly silent. At the very edge of his hearing, Loki was aware of a low crackling mumble, and he realized the guards had switched from external communication to whatever channel they used to speak among themselves. Whether it was a result of his illness or the effects of the shackles, Loki was unable to hear what they were saying, but after a short conversation one of the other guards stepped forward and gripped his arm. 

It was as well Loki had been expecting something of the sort-- they could not stand here all night, and therefore surely someone would take hold of him again to direct him-- because he was able to clamp down on his instinct to jerk away, and possibly strike out at the human. These ant-like guards frightened him out of all proportion to their demeanour, and the fact he did not entirely understand his own reaction made it even more alarming. 

But there was nothing to be gained by fighting the humans. Inconveniencing them would only lead to further unpleasantness for himself. Besides, they meant to take him to Director Fury, and Fury did have authority to free him. Loki had not really expected his overture to be successful, but he calculated that an innocent being would protest his innocence to all official parties as he encountered them. He had no desire to make Directory Fury wonder about inconsistencies in his behaviour. 

"Very well," Loki agreed, permitting his voice to reflect some of his very real alarm. "I will make my explanations to Fury." He acquiesced to the hand on his arm-- and really, the human's clasp was preferable to Thor's grip of iron anyway-- turning in the direction he was bid. Thor, he noted, permitted the humans to take Loki in charge, but followed along closely-- presumably in case Loki turned violent. 

For his part, Loki cast frequent glances at his escort, trying to identify differences between them: this one the tallest, that one heavyset, another almost certainly a woman. He could see no glimpses of skin between sleeve and glove or helmet and shirt collar, nothing he could hold onto, no comforting assurances these really were humans after all. They might truly have been ants, or robots, or anything at all besides ordinary people.

To distract himself from that thought, Loki tried to keep track of where he was being taken. Loki was not terribly familiar with SHIELD's helicarrier, but he had been aboard a time or two. Once, in fact, he had spent several days on the upper decks, the first time he encountered the Avengers. His other encounter with the vessel had been brief, spent only in a search for captured allies when the helicarrier had been in hostile hands. 

That second time, Loki had ventured all the way down to the deepest reaches of the vessel. He remembered few details about the layout, only that he and Mitchell and Annie had descended past seven decks, to the deepest reaches of the vessel. 

Now, surrounded on all sides by the faceless ant-soldiers, Loki allowed himself to be marched from the flight deck to a steel lift-- the enclosed space made his heart pound, and he almost protested being made to enter it. The lift began smoothly to move, and Loki watched as the indicator light recorded their descent. He tried to remember the room in which he had been held that first time, where he had met Director Fury and Tony Stark. It was definitely below decks, but he could not recall offhand exactly how many levels down. 

While the lift carried him inexorably downward, Loki considered what to do next. His options were limited, but _limited_ was not the same as _nonexistent._

In Asgard, he had held himself aloof from Thor and Thor's friends, because there had seemed little point in doing anything else: they had hated him for centuries, and Loki did not plead with enemies. If he changed his manner now, Thor would naturally be suspicious and argue that he was, as the humans would say, _up to something._ However, realistically, Thor was going to be suspicious whatever Loki did: it was more than evident these brothers had been violently estranged for a very long time. 

But now they were on Midgard, and Loki suspected Thor would allow himself to be guided by the humans' attitudes toward Loki. Indeed, given this Thor's past behaviour toward his imprisoned brother, Loki suspected Thor intended to permit the humans to do anything they liked with him. It was indeed fortunate the humans had laws governing their treatment of prisoners.

Icy disdain and standing on his dignity would do Loki no good whatsoever now. He had to persuade these humans he was harmless, and so his manner must be calculated to support that assertion. 

Loki was, of course, aware of the irony of attempting to manipulate the humans into believing in his innocence _when he really was innocent,_ but he saw few other courses open to him. He would perform for them because he had no other choice, but it was important not to overdo it, either. Fury and the Avengers were not stupid. 

_(Thor was not stupid, either, nor were his friends, but still they were unwilling to consider the possibility he spoke the truth.)_

Loki banished the uncomfortable thought as the lift door opened and he was marched out on the deepest level of the helicarrier. There were men and women lining the broad corridor, gazing at him with evident fear and anger and what looked distressingly like hatred. Whatever that other Loki had done here, it was bad. 

Lifelong habit and protective instinct made Loki want to bar all his doors and shutter his windows against these hateful looks, but that would appear to the humans as a guilty conscience. As much as he had to feel guilty about, all of it had taken place elsewhere. He had done nothing here to warrant such disdain. He was perfectly innocent, confused and rather frightened, but his conscience was clear and he was sure Director Fury would believe him and everything would be all right. 

Loki worked on those thoughts, tried to believe them hard enough they would show on his face. _Begin as you intend to continue,_ and if Loki meant to claim innocence to Fury then he must begin the performance here. He hoped the humans he passed would see and, perhaps, admit to each other that his manner had at least been consistent the whole time he was here. 

It was neither easy nor pleasant to make himself seek out the eyes of these angry crew members, look bewildered and defenseless, genuinely feel every rejection as a blow. It was even less pleasant to allow his reactions to show on his face, to give the men and women the satisfaction of seeing their darts strike home. In the past, Loki had devoted a tremendous amount of energy to ensuring no one had that satisfaction of him, and the instinct was difficult to overcome. 

And then they reached the end of the corridor, which terminated in a large open area about two decks high. In front of them, at either the far bow or stern (he had no idea which) Loki was confronted with--

Well, obviously it was a cell of some sort, but on first glance it made Loki think of an enormous cake stand. Steel-floored but otherwise constructed of glass or some other clear material, it was suspended above the very bottom deck and really did bear a more than passing resemblance to the sort of countertop display used in Catherine Bennett's teashop to call attention to the fanciest pastries. 

Ordinarily, the mental image of himself as one of Catherine's cinnamon buns would have been irresistible, but at the moment Loki had no difficulty preventing himself from laughing. 

The glass cell was accessed by means of a small lift, which exited onto a steel gangway leading to the door. There was a walkway girding the cell, presumably for use by the guards, but the door opposite the lift was the only entrance. The guards, without speaking, herded Loki toward the lift. It took no acting ability at all for Loki to project anxiety and reluctance. 

"Surely it is not necessary that I-- " he tried to protest, but broke off when he was prodded in the back by two rifles. Partly because it suited his role, and partly because he really did not want to be imprisoned in that cake stand, Loki tried again. "No, please wait a moment," he made himself plead, "can we not talk about-- " 

"You will enter the elevator of your own volition, or we will blast you unconscious and drag you," announced an inflectionless mechanical voice. Just for a moment, Loki's fear gave way to a flash of anger at being threatened like this. In his opinion the anger was justified, but anger would put him in the wrong with the humans, and so he fought it down. Instead, he cast a piteous look around at the guards. 

It did him no good. A moment later, Loki was stumbling into the lift, propelled by four of the guards, and then they were rising toward the glass cell. 

He was definitely, _definitely_ never going to tell himself again that things could not possibly get worse. 

~oOo~ 

Loki awoke to sunshine streaming in the windows, the pains in his body reduced to dull aches, and his head clear. He felt only mild hunger and thirst, which might even be normal upon awakening-- he could not quite remember. The sense of physical wellbeing was so unusual that he took a moment to catalogue everything that was not wrong with him, savouring the absence of major discomfort. 

He could hear the occupants of the house stirring, and-- in case they had changed their minds about feeding him-- he hastily ate the last piece of bread and cheese, several slices of apple, and the rest of the juicy orange fruit. It was possible he would be punished, if they had in fact decided to come take the food away after all, but no matter what came next he would have the satisfaction of _having eaten._

As if someone could hear his thoughts, there came a tapping at the half-open door of the chamber. 

"Good morning, Loki." It was the voice of the mortal who had helped him in the bath last night. George. "Is it okay if I come in?" 

By now, he better understood the mortals' syntax. He did not particularly believe George would heed a refusal, but there was novelty in being asked. Before he responded, Loki hastily chewed and swallowed the last piece of apple-- he was by now uncomfortably full, but depending on what happened next he might deeply regret not finishing a meal when he had the chance. Then he called,

"Yes, enter," and sat up tensely on the edge of the bed. 

George came in carrying an armload of fabric. "Did you sleep well?" he asked. Before Loki could reply, George's eyes fell on the bedside table and the empty dishes. Loki's breath caught in his throat--

\--and George looked up with a smile. "You ate everything!" he said, in his ridiculous high-pitched voice, as if he was pleased. "That's good!" He set the pile of fabric on the comfortable chair and stepped back. "Now, your own clothes really do need to be cleaned, and besides they're... conspicuous, here on Earth. Midgard. So we thought you might like to wear some of our Loki's clothing-- I don't think he'll mind, and he's your size. If you want to have another bath, just to start the day all fresh, there's a dressing gown you can wear here on top. Would you like to have a bath?"

"Yes," Loki said, quickly. "Yes, I would."

"Okay," George said. "When you're finished, you can come back here and choose something to wear-- " for the first time, Loki realized there were several shirts and trousers bundled together on the chair-- "and then if you're hungry again we can make you something for breakfast." 

It defied sense for these creatures to devote so much time to caring for him, but Loki was not fool enough to point it out. They must have some agenda, but until such time as it was revealed, Loki would acquiesce. If he was careful, if he gave them no trouble, they might begin to disregard him, as Asgard had done all those years. If that happened, it would give him space and time to think of a way to escape. 

_And then, where would he go? What would he do?_

He would think about that later. For now, he allowed George to escort him to the bathing chamber. It was not like being taken there by a guard, nor yet a servant-- George behaved as though he thought, perhaps, Loki might feel confused even in a dwelling as small as this one, might require guidance. 

There was a new, full bottle of scented purple fluid sitting on the floor next to the bathing tub. George also provided him with a small soft brush and a tube containing a pasty, mint-smelling substance which (George explained) was meant to clean one's teeth. After a few more words of explanation (one did not swallow the minty paste) and an invitation to come downstairs when he was ready, George left Loki to his own devices. 

The first thing Loki did, while the sound of pouring water masked his actions, was search the cupboards for anything that he might use as a weapon, just in case. He found some strange small shaving devices with short handles and tiny blades fixed crosswise in guards, and slipped one into the pocket of the dressing gown. He did not dare steal more, in case the loss was noticed. The casing was a feeble substance, rendering the whole thing less than suitable as a weapon, but still, it was better than nothing and he felt safer for having it. Concealment would be a problem, but surely that was one he could solve. 

That much accomplished, Loki used the little brush and the paste to clean his teeth, spitting quite a lot of blood into the sink. He persisted until his mouth felt fresh, and then turned back to the tub of water. 

Bathing this morning was even pleasanter than it had been the night before, since it was no longer a matter of desperate necessity. Instead of scrubbing off grime and sweat and dried blood, he felt himself to be bathing simply for the pleasure of being clean, and he washed his hair again for the same reason. That accomplished, he dried himself, put on the dressing gown, and returned to the sleeping chamber. 

In his absence the bed had been made, and the fresh clothing laid out upon the counterpane. Loki, after slipping his tiny weapon into the space between the mattress and the headboard-- he would have more need of it at night, when he was most vulnerable, and so decided not to risk discovery during daylight-- considered the available options. 

George had said this apparel belonged to the Loki who occupied this house. Was he not Aesir, then? The garments were indistinguishable from those worn by George and Mitchell, seemed simple mortal garb. There was nothing here that could possibly protect its wearer from attack, they were all of soft cloth and scarcely more robust than sleeping garments. Either these mortals were fools, or very trusting-- in which case they were fools-- or this realm was much safer than what he was accustomed to. 

Well. _Had been_ safer. Before _he_ came. 

Brushing the thought aside, Loki examined all the garments carefully, comparing them to what George wore. Finally, he put on underclothing, then a pair of soft blue trousers made of faded cotton and a sort of knitted shirt one pulled on over one's head. It was dark grey and had sleeves long enough to accommodate Loki's long arms. 

He had even been provided with shoes, of a tough fabric decorated with vibrantly coloured stripes. They felt cushiony on his feet. Loki bounced experimentally a time or two, since after all he was alone, then abandoned the dressing gown on the bed and cautiously emerged from the chamber. 

As he made his way down the hall, his attention was caught by the tiny chamber in which he had spied Thor sleeping. The door was partly ajar, and Loki's curiosity prompted him to peer inside. 

Two little cats were curled up on the bed, next to the pillow. One of them, the mostly-black one, yawned and stretched, then put its head down and went back to sleep. Loki looked around the tiny chamber. There were bookshelves attached to the walls, holding a mixture of grimoires, shabby paper texts, and colourful little figurines. There were pictures on the walls, some of them crude drawings that looked like the creations of children. There was a large image of four mortals walking in single file.

Beside it was another picture, one that made Loki's chest clench. A great horned monster, like the one that attacked him outside the house, stared out of the parchment at him. Loki studied the beast, forcing himself to breathe, wondering whether the monster had actually come from within the house and, if so, what that might mean. Could the monster actually _enter_ the house?

"Loki, are you okay?" It was the voice of the other man, Mitchell. "We're making some breakfast, if you'd like to join us."

Loki quietly left the room and hurried down the staircase toward the others.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** H!Loki and Fury have words. They are not especially pleasant words. Also, I'm handwaving A!Loki into recognizing the Midgardian version of a few things that would look different in Asgard. It's not like this story isn’t already complicated enough. 
> 
> **Warnings:** All prior warnings, for feels-whump and heroes-can-be-arseholes, still apply.

There was a sort of bunk-- or really, it was more of a bench-- built into the glass wall opposite the door of the cell. Loki did not sit on, or even approach it. Constructed of steel, with a thin plastic-covered pad built into the surface, it certainly did not look comfortable, but that was not the reason for his avoidance. For reasons he did not understand, the bench made him feel apprehensive, as though it reminded him of some terrible experience. 

And why he should be afraid of a _bench_ was more than he could imagine, particularly with such a varied selection of far more obvious things to be frightened and miserable about. 

Not least of these was this case of flu. Long ago, when his illness had seemed a reasonable thing to bother about, Loki had hoped that his magic would be able to adjust to and subdue it. So far-- possibly because of the restraints that confined his powers-- that had not happened. Loki was now in a state of sufficient discomfort that, were he at home, he would surely by now have taken to his bed with hot tea and a box of tissues, too wretched even to wish to be fussed over by Annie or to lie on the sofa watching _Pride & Prejudice._

The business of his magic being mostly confined was no joke, either. Instead of lying quietly dormant, his powers seemed to be roaming inside him, testing the barriers by which they were restrained. It was a disorienting and quite painful sensation, especially when something alarmed him. When that happened, his magic reacted like an infuriated beast of prey in a cage, rattling and gnawing at the enclosure that held it. This enclosure being, in fact, _Loki,_ the sensation was unpleasant in the extreme, and so he did his best to remain tranquil.

This was, of course, easier said than done. 

Lacking a wristwatch or his mobile phone, Loki could only estimate that considerably more than an hour had passed since he was shut in this cell. There were guards stationed on the catwalk all around him. They did not respond to any of his attempts to initiate conversation, and so for most of the time Loki had paced the cell with only his thoughts for company.

He did not, on the whole, enjoy them. He was no closer to knowing exactly what the Loki of this reality had actually done, but the humans' reactions indicated it must have been really dreadful. With a history of jumping to the worst possible conclusions based on only partial evidence, Loki tried to restrain his imagination and actually consider several possibilities. 

Perhaps he had assassinated some important public figure. But in that case, who? And _why?_

He might have turned the Bifrost on Midgard instead of Jotunheim. That really seemed likely. As angry and jealous as he had himself been, when he realized his brother's supposed punishment had only gained him even more friends and followers-- while he felt himself betrayed at every turn, by everyone from his parents downward-- it was perhaps surprising the idea had never entered his own mind.

Only in that case, what had the queen meant when she referred to the prisoner being _returned from Midgard?_ Surely Thor, or whoever on Asgard had captured the other Loki, would have incarcerated him there immediately. There would have been no reason to bring the criminal to Midgard at all, even if Thor had gone to apologize on behalf of Asgard. Asgard, at least the Asgard he knew, was not in the habit of handing prisoners over to other realms, not when the crime-- whoever it was aimed at-- had been committed on Asgard in the first place. And given the issue of relative lifespans, there was no reason at all to deliver Loki to Midgard for punishment when a crime like that might earn a sentence centuries long. 

And besides, had not this Thor referred to the other Loki possessing _allies?_ An _army?_

Improbable as it appeared, the available evidence suggested that the other Loki had, for some mad reason of his own, invaded Midgard. What could he have possibly wanted? To enslave it? Surely not-- Loki himself had never really wanted to rule _Asgard,_ let alone some world he knew nothing about at the time. What could have possessed the other Loki, in addition to lunacy?

Apart from everything else, Midgard was much larger and more complicated than Asgard, than any of the other Nine Realms. No one could be fool enough to think it possible to subjugate or control a world of that size, with its hundreds of governments and its billions of humans. It made no sense. Surely no Loki could be that much of an idiot. 

Unless, of course, he was so far gone in jealousy and madness that he was incapable of thinking clearly at all. That, Loki had to concede, was a very real and even likely possibility. But, that being the case, where in the Nine had he gotten _hold_ of an army, let alone persuaded or compelled it to _obey_ him?

His thoughts were interrupted by movement on the level below him. He walked to the glass wall and stood there looking down as Director Fury, accompanied by Agent Romanov, crossed the steel floor toward the lift. Neither of them raised their eyes toward him. 

They disappeared from his view as they entered the lift, and he heard the mechanism activate. There being no pause, he concluded Fury, at least, had been briefed already, that the delay in his arrival had been occasioned by that, rather than any need to locate him. Presumably he had spent at least part of that time in talking to Thor, which was a most uncomfortable thought. The mere fact the thought was so uncomfortable was the worst thing about it. 

He had only a moment to remind himself of the line he intended to take when the doors to the lift opened and the two SHIELD agents stepped out. Loki immediately strode forward to the glass wall. 

"Director Fury," he exclaimed, "I am so glad to see you! And-- Agent Romanov," he added, deciding at the last second not to address her by her given name. He and Agent Romanov were not close friends in his own reality, but he knew her well enough to expect her to resent any show of apparent disrespect or over-familiarity. 

The agents did not react in any way to Loki's overture-- this was indeed his day for being reminded of the joys of his youth-- and he was compelled to try again.

"There has been a really terrible misunderstanding," he began, conscious of his bound hands trying to wring themselves together. He settled for lightly folding them into fists to keep them quiet as he smiled hopefully at Director Fury. "I understand you have had considerable difficulty with the Loki of your reality, and I do realize this would not have left you much inclined to hear me out, but-- "

Any hopes Loki might have been nursing with regard to his reception by Fury died a lonely death as the director barked, 

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Loki of Asgard. The only reason you're not in sealed in a concrete bunker a mile below the surface of the earth right now is, your brother explained to us that you've got some kind of new plan for this planet. I want the details. Now."

Loki felt something shrivel deep inside him, but the thought of the other Loki, mad and dangerous and at large in his own reality, pushed him to try again. 

"Please, Director Fury, you must believe me. I am speaking the truth. I was brought to this reality by some mischance, I know not what-- " really, this story was so ridiculous you would think Fury would realize it must be real, surely a _child_ could think up a better lie-- "and now I fear the Loki who troubled you must be-- "

"What did I just say about bullshit?" Fury interrupted, but Loki raised his voice and talked urgently on:

"I have no plans against Midgard. I _live_ here, or rather I live in the other Midgard, on, on my own side of the looking-glass." Fury started to rumble, and Loki raised his voice as he hurried on: "My home is in the city of Bristol, in the kingdom of Great Britain. I am, I am _not_ a criminal-- " Really, it was astounding that he did not choke on such a lie, but his past was not currently at issue, and the situation was indeed desperate-- "and my intentions toward Midgard are entirely peaceful. This is all a misunderstanding. The other Loki, the one who recently caused you some sort of problem-- if _I_ am _here,_ then _he_ must be in my reality, and so you can see it is a matter of some urgency that I return and-- "

"Yeah, your brother told us about the line you were taking. Exactly how _stupid_ do you think we ants are?" Fury demanded. 

"Ants?" Loki faltered, and barely resisted the urge to glance at the black-masked guards. "I am afraid I do not-- "

Fury smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "I'm sure you remember that little speech you made, comparing us humans to ants."

Oh, this was even worse than he had feared.

"You mean family-oriented, industrious, yet always willing to make time for a picnic?" Loki joked feebly. Fury's one eye narrowed, and despite a growing sensation of impending disaster, Loki tried again: "Please, Director Fury, this is important. You must-- " 

Loki had never been much inclined to plead with enemies, but he was having difficulty really making himself believe that _Fury_ was his enemy. The one-eyed human had always made him anxious, it was true, but that was mostly a childish holdover of his old fear of his one-eyed father. Deep down, Loki really was not afraid of the man himself. True, they had gotten off to a bad start, that time when Fury believed Loki have cast a nearly disabling curse upon Steve Rogers, and certainly he had been genuinely afraid when he had been entirely at the man's mercy and, at the time, not entirely sure he had any. But since then, Fury had shown himself to be intelligent and reasonable, albeit in a way calculated to inspire terror in his human underlings. Loki, who was neither, played at fear of the man more than he actually felt it, and was quite sure Fury, _his_ Fury, realized as much. 

This one openly sneered at him. 

"Oh, we _must,_ must we?" he repeated mockingly. Loki was willing to concede his choice of word had been unfortunate, under the circumstances. Fury went on, "Let me tell you how this is going to go. You know and I know that, unless you've got more brainwashed minions coming to bust you out, this cell is more than strong enough to hold you. And this time we're not playing around-- any sign of your flying monkeys and we really _will_ drop you." 

"Drop me where?" Loki asked. Quite apart from his wish to know what this Fury had in mind for him, it seemed wise to remind the man, as often as possible, that he was not the same Loki and had no idea what Fury was talking about. Also, this business of _dropping him_ sounded quite alarming. 

Fury gave him a look of irritation. "All right, I'll play. Simmons-- " He gestured toward one of the ant-like guards, who walked over to a control panel and did something Loki could not see properly. 

The deck beneath the cell opened, and the cell itself shuddered as though on the brink of dropping down and through it. Loki's breath caught in his throat-- setting off both another coughing fit and another defensive flare of magic-- as he contemplated the fall into nothingness. Depending on how much magic he could scrape together in an emergency, there was no guarantee such a drop would kill him. However, it most certainly would not do him any _good._

Nor, of course, would it be exactly beneficial to anyone underneath when he and the cell hit the ground. Loki had to wonder what sort of precautions-- if any-- this Fury would take to correct for that. 

After affording him a good long look into the void, Fury gestured again, and Simmons did whatever was necessary to close the portal in the deck. The director cast a smug look at Loki, seeming to take satisfaction in his expression of frightened disbelief. 

The expression was, in fact, a fairly accurate representation of Loki's feelings. Had it not been, Loki would have taken care to simulate fear because it suited the character he was presenting. He was, of course, aware that Fury probably did not _believe_ in the reaction he was enjoying so-- if Fury believed Loki to be a criminal attempting to trick him, then he also must believe Loki was lying now. 

His own Fury would certainly have suspected something, since his own Fury must know that Loki did not freely display vulnerability to enemies. But if there was any chance he could persuade this Fury of his sincerity, he did not mind also letting the man believe him weaker and more cowardly than he really was. 

_Weaker._ The word reminded him of something Fury had said, something he needed to think on when he had a moment. He set the thought aside: for the moment, Loki had a role to play. 

"Really," he said, with a feeble little chuckle, "all this for me? You should not have taken the trouble."

"You know damned well who this cell was designed for. And you know he's a whole lot stronger than you are."

"Inasmuch as I am new around here," Loki countered, "perhaps you would humour me with an explanation." Apart from everything else, the more information he could glean about this reality and the Avengers who protected it-- assuming there _were_ Avengers in this reality-- the better off he would be.

Fury cocked his head on one side, in a rather disturbing parody of innocence. Loki wondered whether that was the effect he was himself creating in the director.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten already. Big, green, bad-tempered? Smashed your head into Tony Stark's floor until your brains were too scrambled for you to figure out how to escape? I'm pretty sure the Hulk would stick in what's left of your mind."

"The _Hulk?"_ Loki demanded, completely distracted-- and not a little horrified-- by this piece of intelligence. "Wait, wait, you cannot be telling me-- this cell is meant for _him?_ For _Dr. Banner?"_ He looked at Simmons, and then at the door of the cell, which hardly seemed large enough to admit a being as large as the Hulk. "And how was this betrayal to be effected? Did you intend to lure him in here with _cat toys?"_ He looked down at the place where the floor was meant to open, wondering how much the Hulk actually understood, whether he would be afraid as he fell. 

It seemed unlikely to Loki that the fall would actually _kill_ the Hulk, but--

"But he is your _comrade,"_ he protested, in his distress allowing himself to be completely distracted from his own problems. "He is, he is _one of you._ You _cannot-- "_

_You cannot use his abilities for your own gain and then turn on him the moment he becomes inconvenient._

Oh, this was indeed a happy journey through the emotional landscape of his youth.

Fury raised a cynical eyebrow. "I'm sure he'll be very touched to hear about your concern. I suggest you worry more about your own situation, Loki of Asgard. I'm going to get the information I need out of you one way or the other. You might want to make it easier on yourself this time."

Well, _that_ was a pleasant thought. 

Fury started to turn away, but Loki called to him. "Wait, Director Fury-- am I to remain in this cell?"

Fury smirked. "Accommodations not to your liking?"

Loki huddled his arms against himself, hugging himself as well as he could. "Well, it is rather bare. And not really suited to long periods of confinement. Suppose I need to use the toilet?"

It was a fair question, Loki considered. And surely the more he was able to sound like a puzzled innocent, instead of... whatever Fury thought he was... the better off he would be.

"Piss on the floor, for all I care," Fury replied with a shrug. _"I_ won't be smelling it."

And then he and the silent Agent Romanov were gone. 

Left alone in the cake stand, Loki carefully schooled his expression into one of anxiety and confusion. Meanwhile, behind his face, his mind was busy sorting through the scraps of information Fury had given him.

Only one thing really stood out: Fury's reference to the cell being built for the Hulk _(he would not think deeply on that)_ and so more than able to hold him, because the Hulk was physically so much stronger than he. 

Obviously, especially with his magic bound, that was true. But the way Fury had said it... 

It had sounded as if Fury was considering _only_ physical strength. Which might mean the other Loki was not a magical being at all--

No, that was ridiculous. The fact Thor had bound him with these chains made it very clear the other Loki was a creature of magic. But it appeared that Fury had dealt with a Loki who was either unable to escape from the cell with magic, or had for reasons of his own chosen not to. Whatever the answer, Fury's specific focus on the strength of the cell, rather than on the magic-binding shackles, really did suggest he might not be aware the Loki he was now faced with, at full strength, could easily pass through these glass walls. 

Once again, Loki reached out with his metaphorical fingertips and dabbled them in the magic he had available. There was a little more at his disposal now, and every reason to hope Fury had an incomplete picture of what sort of things he might be able to do with it. If he kept saving it up and did not panic, he would have it available if escape became his only remaining option. It would take time, but the choice would be there for him when his magic eventually replenished itself.

His face continued to reflect anxiety, but behind it he clung to that small assurance. Hands still pressed to his chest,, both to present the appropriate anxious picture and also to soothe muscles sore from coughing, Loki continued to pace in the cell. 

~oOo~

The strange cushiony shoes kept Loki's footfalls very quiet, except for the tiny squeaks emitted by the soles. Even so, as he stepped off the staircase onto the black-and-white tile floor, a small black dog came hurrying toward him, ears cocked tensely forward and nostrils working. He could see the moment the creature realized he was not the Loki she was looking for-- her ears went back and her head and plumy tail drooped. 

Loki had one moment in which he hated the wretched little dog almost as much as he was beginning to hate that other Loki, who wore ridiculous mortal clothing and liked orange fruit and knew words like _shampoo._

And was _missed._

He followed the dog from the entry hall into the small room with the seats, the one he had… _arrived in…_ the night before. The dog continued through the room to a doorway, hung with strings of wooden beads instead of a door. They scarcely rustled as the animal passed through. 

Loki could hear voices from the other room, muttering quietly on the edge of his hearing. That made him pause: he should have been able to hear the conversation clearly, and the fact he could not indicated that his powers were still very weak. He felt a great deal _better_ than he had the night before, but now he began to realize how much farther he had to go. The knowledge brought with it a renewed sense of his own vulnerability. 

He glanced with longing at the door that led out of the little dwelling. He should escape, take advantage of this lapse in vigilance by his captors, _run--_

He nearly let the urge get away from him, nearly fled out the door before second thoughts could stop him. And then he remembered the horned monster that waited outside, and hesitated. 

"Loki?" Annie was standing in the middle of the sitting room, the little dog at her feet, looking at him with an expression of concern. He had not heard her come through the strings of beads or walk across the floor, and he was hard pressed to control a startle at the sound of her voice so near him. 

Last night-- he thought he remembered her vanishing. That made no sense, mortals did not-- 

There was a sensation as of the world wobbling under his feet, but when Annie reached toward him, Loki allowed her to take his arm. 

"We're out in the kitchen making breakfast, if you'd like to join us," she offered. "Are you hungry?" It did not make sense for him to be so, not when he had eaten such a lot in the past few hours, but when Annie mentioned food Loki suddenly realized he was indeed hungry again. Annie, seeming to read his expression, smiled and patted his arm. 

_Perhaps,_ he thought sourly, _she has forgotten I am not the Loki she wants._

Annie suddenly looked serious. "Loki-- do you remember what I said last night? About Thor?" He did not react visibly, but still she obviously felt it, because she went on, her voice persuasive and soft, "He's not going to hurt you. I promise."

And that was simply too much. Anger flared within him.

"And what might you, a _mortal,_ do to stay the mighty Thor?" Loki demanded, almost in a hiss. He nearly regretted it when Annie released his arm and stepped back, but all she did was reply calmly, 

"For one thing, I'm not a mortal."

And then the long padded seat was lifting into the air, floating, while the little dog wagged her tail and looked interested. Annie smiled at the expression on Loki's face, and gestured. The seat lowered itself gently back to the floor, and she said,

"Dead handy for cleaning behind it. I've never thrown it at anyone, but there's always a first time and Thor knows it. He won't hurt you-- he doesn't want to, and anyway I won't let him. Now come into the kitchen and we'll get you something to eat."

For a moment, Loki simply stared at her, unable even to conceal his surprise and apprehension. She was _not mortal._ She was not mortal, and he had not sensed anything unusual about her. Last night, he had awakened on the floor, with the restraints removed, and he had not even _wondered_ how that happened. All this time he had been forced to live on his wits like a hunted animal, and for the last several hours he might have been a babe in arms. For something like this to be all around him, and he completely unaware--

Annie reached out and took his hand in her strangely cold one. "Come on," she said kindly. "Let's have breakfast."

Annie pushed the strings of beads out of the way and led Loki into the next room, which turned out to be a kitchen. It was small, crowded, and smelled most appetizing. 

It also contained Thor, busy with something at the stovetop on the other side of the room. Thor at the stove should have been the strangest thing about his appearance, but in fact it was rivalled by his manner of dress: instead of his armour and cape, Thor wore the same sort of faded cotton trousers as Loki and the two men-- beings?-- who lived in this house, and a thin grey shirt with a round low collar and short sleeves. 

This was not the first time Loki had seen his brother so garbed: he had rather vivid memories of Thor, in mortal dress, walking toward the Destroyer, uttering platitudes aimed at calming Loki. At silencing him. At returning him to his former state of acquiescence, to his place deep in the golden prince's shadow.

Exactly as the prince's mother had sought to do, in the Allfather's chamber, when she set her sleeping husband between them and talked and _talked_ at him. Talked about their rights as _his parents,_ reminding him of all he owed them, ignoring his questions and refusing to grant him answers and showing he was _nothing_ to her, _nothing,_ only a _monster_ which might someday be useful but until then must be managed and controlled and _tricked--_

_Those plans no longer matter._

"Loki, are you all right?" Annie asked, frowning in apparent concern. Loki turned to her, deliberately seeking to school his expression into one of calm unconcern. 

He was nonplussed to realize there was nothing to change in his expression, it was already the cool mask he was accustomed to show his family-- and his enemies, and all those who sought to control and to hurt him. There was nothing to give him away, and yet Annie had seen past it, was looking at him with concern in her eyes. 

_All_ of them were staring at him, even Thor, who looked as if he would speak. Looked like it but then, for a wonder, simply arranged something on a plate and gave it to George, who in turn offered it to Loki. 

On the plate were two rolls of thin bread, wrapped around a savoury concoction of egg and cheese, fried meat and something red and sharp-smelling. Loki's first thought was that these Midgardians seemed to eat all their meals wrapped in bread. 

"It's called a breakfast burrito, apparently," George was explaining. "Thor says his friends in New Mexico taught him how to make them. Try it."

Loki took the plate in both hands and, before he could stop himself, backed up a step. He picked up a piece of the rolled bread and egg and brought it to his mouth. The red, sharp, spicy smell became stronger, so strong he could feel it like oil in his still-sore mouth. Eating this was going to hurt, but he was not fool enough to reject food over a little matter like that. 

George, however, had been watching closely, and-- alarmingly-- he was as quick as Annie to see past Loki's controlled expression. 

"What's the matter?" he demanded, approaching Loki to examine the food on his plate. Loki backed away. George, looking pained, asked, "Don't you like it?"

Really, these mortals, with their bewildering questions about what he _liked. Liking_ had nothing to do with anything, this was valuable food and he needed to regain his strength. Balanced against that need, a little discomfort was immaterial. 

"Is it the salsa?" Mitchell suddenly spoke up. "Maybe you don't like spicy food?"

Having grown up in Asgard, believing himself to be Aesir, Loki was of course accustomed to plain fare and had no reason to enjoy _spicy food._ This was, again, immaterial. What they were willing to give him was what he would eat. And besides, he _wanted_ the eggs and cheese and meat. He _needed_ them. Panic rose within him at the prospect of anyone taking the food away. Loki took a hasty bite of the rolled-up bread and egg mixture, blinking as his eyes began to water in pain.

Thor was suddenly busy at the stove. A moment later he had turned toward Loki again, bearing another plate. He stopped in his tracks when Loki hastily retreated from him, clutching the original plate. 

"I am sorry," Thor said quickly, and Loki was reminded of that other time Thor had said _I am sorry,_ making it clear he was not sorry for anything in particular, was just saying what he could to control him, to make Loki _stop._ This was just like that other time, it was--

Only now Thor went on, "Both my brother and I have spent a great deal of time on Midgard this last year or two, and we have learned to enjoy the spicy foods of this realm. I completely forgot _you_ might have different preferences. If you would rather eat your eggs plain, I would be happy to finish that serving. George, would you-- ?" Once again Thor handed a plate of food to George, as if aware how little Loki wanted to be anywhere within grabbing distance of the golden prince of Asgard. 

"I'll trade you," George said, his bespectacled face worried, as he held out the second plate. This one also contained rolls of thin bread stuffed with the egg-and-cheese mixture and strips of fried meat. There was no red spicy sauce to be seen. 

Loki should have been suspicious of this showy concern for his tastes, and indeed he was-- there _had_ to be something else at work-- but try as he might he could see no way it could be to his disadvantage to take the fresh plate and surrender the first. Experience had shown him he would only be able to eat a small amount in any one sitting anyway, so why not accept George's-- _Thor's--_ offer?

Before he knew what was happening, Loki had relinquished the plate with the spicy version of the _breakfast burrito_ and accepted the plain one, which smelled nothing but appetizing. And then George and Annie were fussing gently at him, escorting him out of the crowded kitchen and thankfully back to the sitting room. Mitchell stayed behind with Thor, but a few moments later the two emerged carrying more plates, then went back for cups of a steaming drink. 

When they had given round the drinks, Mitchell joined George on another long seat. Thor sat in a large chair near the kitchen door, not too near Loki and not blocking his route to the staircase or the outer door. Could that be deliberate? Was he giving Loki a chance to bolt in order that he would have justification to chase him down?

Loki was suddenly too tired to keep asking himself such questions. If Thor attacked him, he would defend himself. For now, it seemed unproductive to wonder.

In a moment everyone save Annie was preparing to eat. Was she a servant? She certainly did not act like one, but there was no other reason for her to refrain from joining them. Unless-- she had said she was not mortal. Was she a creature who did not need sustenance?

"Don't worry about me," Annie said, sitting down beside Loki on the long padded seat-- George had referred to it as _the sofa_ when he bade Loki sit down just now. She drew her legs up comfortably and smiled at him. Of all the unnerving things that had happened to him since his removal from the cell, Annie's apparent ability to _read his mind_ was nearly the worst. 

And yet he found himself unable to be really frightened or resentful of her. That in itself was rather alarming, but he did not allow it to spoil his enjoyment of this latest meal, or the sweet hot drink Annie told him was called _tea._

He ate half of the food on his plate and drank all of his tea before he was, again, temporarily sated. At that point Mitchell leaned forward and spoke. 

"I don't know how much you remember about last night, but the two women who were here with us-- their names are Agnes and Catherine-- are going to be coming back in a little while. They want to see how you're feeling, and then, well-- "

The food in his belly turned to stone as Loki mentally finished the sentence for Mitchell. Somehow, he had been freed of his shackles, which meant these creatures, whatever they were, had access to magic. And that meant-- 

"And then you will determine how to send me back where I came from, and retrieve the Loki who lives here," he said flatly, determined that this time he would give Annie nothing to read. And why he should feel such a pang at the idea-- 

"Not quite," Mitchell said, glancing at the others and then back at Loki. His tone was straightforward, as though he saw no need to reassure or soothe, as though what he said next would be simple fact. The tone did more to calm Loki than any obvious efforts at pacification could have. Mitchell went on, "Obviously, we want our Loki home, and yes, Agnes and Catherine are going to help us however they can. But nobody's sending anyone back to wherever you came from. Not considering the state you were in when you got here."

Apparently, the idiot had not stopped to consider what Loki might have done to _earn_ the _state he was in._ Mortal or not, they were all fools--

"No matter what you did," Annie added suddenly. "We're not sending you back. Would you like a little more tea?"

And just at that a knock came on the outer door.

~oOo~

Tony Stark was already pissed off when he landed on the deck of the helicarrier. Still in the suit, and ignoring the guards, he was on his way to the observation deck when Romanov arrived to meet him. 

"It's not that I'm not just thrilled about the idea of getting the old band back together," Stark said, without waiting for her to speak. "It's just that I was kind of hoping to have a chance to, you know, actually get to _miss_ you guys a little bit. What the hell does Fury want now?"

"Thor's back," Romanov replied, without preamble. 

"Thor?" Stark repeated. "Seriously? I thought we'd seen the last of the god of thunder and rock and roll. What's up?"

"He didn't come alone," Romanov said.

Stark's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'he didn't come alone'? So who'd he bring with him?" Romanov didn't answer. Stark stopped walking and turned to her. "Bullshit. You're not saying-- _bullshit. Loki?_ He's _back?"_

"Apparently," Romanov replied flatly. "Thor says he's up to something else."

"And he wants us to deal with it," Stark finished the thought for her. Romano nodded, and Stark cursed. "You know, I'm kind of tired of cleaning up Asgard's messes for them."

Romanov nodded again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** There are certain things SHIELD has not learned from previous experience, but I see no reason to assume they would. Also, A!Loki's fears are not entirely unfounded. Mostly, but not entirely.
> 
> You may have noticed that neither Loki is all-powerful in this story/series. That's deliberate: I try to avoid all-powerfulness whenever possible.
> 
> **Warnings:** For a type of mind control, because Catherine can be high-handed, especially if she is suspicious about your intentions. I struggled with this idea because really, A!Loki hasn't had a chance to do anything wrong yet, but Catherine is the kind of character who believes there is definitely such a thing as being too trusting, especially when mysterious sorcerers land on your doorstep-- why yes, if H!Loki had landed on the roof of her teashop this  would have been a very different story!-- and this option was the best I came up with. Also, it will have implications later. 
> 
> Also mild vulgar language. It's nothing very serious, but a little more than usual for this series. 
> 
> Also all prior warnings, particularly about feels-whump, still apply. In spades.

"I still say if you just let me put an arrow through his eye, that would solve the whole problem with a lot less fuss," Barton was arguing as Stark and Romanov walked into the briefing room together. 

"And after we get the information we need out of him, maybe I'll let you," Fury replied. Thor twitched a little, but he didn't protest as Fury turned to the newcomers. "Stark. Romanov briefed you."

"I filled him in on what was known of the situation when he arrived," Romanov replied, walking away from Stark to take a chair between Barton and Rogers. Stark ignored all three of them. 

"And I have to say, if you're going to do a reunion tour, why not kick it off at Madison Square Garden," Stark commented, as he crossed the room to seat himself next to Banner. Banner nodded, looking grim, and Stark noted that he had a sort of peaked look, one Stark associated with Banner keeping an iron grip on his anger. Stark knew as well as anyone what an effort that was for the physicist, and it wasn't that he was actively trying to make things worse, but he still went on, "Oh, right-- because Madison Square Garden is closed for repairs, and the streets around it are mostly leveled. And the asshole responsible for it all is back. Seriously, Thor, don't you think we have anything better to do than deal with your problems?"

"Calm down, Stark, and let him explain," ordered Rogers. Stark briefly considered needling him a little, just to relieve his feelings, but that would only prolong this gong show. Instead, he turned to Thor. 

"Well?" he prompted. "What happened?"

Thor looked uncomfortable. "My brother was returned to Asgard, where he was imprisoned to await sentencing."

"And is this sentence going to involve him getting tied to a rock under a giant snake that drips poison into his eyes?" Stark asked hopefully. Thor looked puzzled for a moment, then ignored the comment and went on, 

"My king and father, Odin, immediately took the Tesseract and went to ask the advice of mages on its proper confinement. In his absence, Loki began scheming to escape, telling this ridiculous story of innocence, of harmless ties to Midgard." Thor looked awkward for a moment, which brought everyone to high alert. 

"And this ended with him back on Earth how?" Stark spoke for everyone, before Thor had a chance to think up a lie. Old Wrestlemania gave the appearance of uncomplicated honesty and virtue, but Stark wasn't stupid enough to take _that_ at face value. The sensory enhancements in Stark's suit had allowed him to hear part of the first confrontation between Thor and Tall Dark and Crazy on the mountaintop, right after Thor had grabbed the prisoner from SHIELD's custody and thrown him out of the quinjet. It had sounded very much as if Thor had been offering to take Loki home and forget everything, if Loki would just hand over the Tesseract. 

Stark would certainly have brought _that_ up for discussion by the group as soon as they reached the helicarrier, except Thor quickly explained to the Avengers that he was _actually_ coming to take Loki back to Asgard to be punished-- for his actions on Earth and also for whatever other trouble he'd caused, rampaging around the galaxy for God knows how long. 

Stark obviously had no problem with Thor lying to his crazy asshole of an adopted brother to get him back under control, but he did keep in mind the fact that Thor _was_ willing to lie if he thought it was necessary. And he was certainly uncomfortable about something right now. 

Thor scowled at Stark, then reluctantly explained, 

"His protests were relayed to the queen, my mother. She has ever indulged him, and on this matter she… She asked that I investigate his claims." Thor looked grim, and finally spit out the words, "That is obviously what he wants, and the only reason he would wish to return here is to carry out some further violence against your realm."

"And what exactly are those claims you mentioned?" Rogers demanded. "That he attacked Earth _for our own good?"_

Thor said stiffly, "He claims not to be the same Loki who carried out the attack."

"What, he's had some kind of born-again revelation?" Stark asked incredulously. "He's spent, what, a thousand years or whatever being a murderous warlord, and he thinks we'll buy him completely reforming in _ten days?_ After what he did here?" 

Romanov spoke. "No, he's claiming to literally be _a different Loki._ He says he's not from this reality, has no idea why we're angry at him, doesn't know what we're accusing him of. It's actually a pretty convincing performance-- if you didn't know better, it would be easy to believe he was some innocent grad student who'd gotten lost on his way to the library."

"God of lies, after all," Banner muttered.

Romanov nodded. "Yes. And besides, he knows who we are. He claims to live in Great Britain, where presumably he just minds his own business, but he addressed Fury and me by our names and acted as if he knew us, which doesn't exactly fit with his cover story." 

"And he didn't have any explanation for the discrepancy?" Rogers asked, frowning. 

"Didn't ask him," Fury replied. "I let him stew for a couple of hours before I went to talk to him, and he was falling all over himself to tell me his bullshit story. I made it clear I wasn't buying what he's selling, and we left him again. The guards aren't talking to him, either, no matter how pitiful he makes himself look. Based on his behaviour the first time we dealt with him, the grandstanding asshole isn't going to like that at all-- he wants someone to talk to, to be smarter than. We'll leave him long enough to get good and pissed off about being ignored, and then we'll let him talk."

"Is Agent Romanov going to lead the interrogation again?" Rogers asked, adding directly to Romanov, "You played him like a fish on a line the last time." He was referring to the first round on the helicarrier, when Romanov had tricked Loki into letting on about his plans involving the Hulk. Granted, he'd seemed a little obsessed with Banner from the get-go, but he still must have been really off his game to let that much slip. 

Of course, when she'd relayed the news to the team Banner had immediately Hulked out and nearly destroyed the helicarrier and everyone on it, so it wasn't exactly an unmixed victory. Still, she'd gotten him to talk. 

"I doubt my playing innocent would work as well a second time," Romanov replied coolly. "Based on previous experience, getting him angry enough to drop his guard seems to work."

"Stark, you made him mad enough to throw you out a window," Fury spoke up. 

"I'm not actually in a hurry to do a repeat performance," Stark pointed out. 

"He's back in the cell," Fury replied. Nobody had to ask him which cell. Well, of course they'd repaired it after Loki let it drop with Thor in it. Nobody looked at Banner. Fury went on, "He's not throwing anybody anywhere. And no matter how hard he plays the innocent, he won't have forgotten you putting that muzzle on him. That's bound to grind on him when he sees you." 

Thor twitched again, which seemed a little odd, considering he hadn't been at all reluctant when they'd chained and gagged his adopted brother in the first place. 

"I'm not a trained interrogator," Stark pointed out. As a matter of fact, he could give a shit about being a trained interrogator-- what he objected to was having to be in the same room with Lecter of Asgard, period. 

"You don't need to be," Fury said. "We know he's crazy, and he was barely holding it together the first time we had him here. You start needling him and he's pretty certain to blow. Even if we don't get everything we need, it'll still give us somewhere to start when we go on to enhanced interrogation."

"I have already told you, mere pain will not influence my brother to reveal his plans to you," Thor said. "You will only be wasting time."

"And I already told _you,_ everyone says that until the pain really starts," Fury replied flatly. "Besides, you brought him here and asked for our help."

Drawing himself up slightly, which even seated was kind of impressive, Thor replied, "I came here to bring warning of a further plan against your realm, that being his only possible reason for wishing to return here, and that return being the obvious goal of his manipulations of my mother."

"So, in other words, you played us right into his hands," Rogers pointed out, which was exactly what Stark was thinking. If the captain had an opinion on "enhanced interrogation," he was apparently keeping it to himself for the moment. 

"You'd prefer Thor had just left us to deal with whatever new threat Loki's got planned for us?" Fury snapped. "He's been locked up with no way to communicate with anyone, which means whatever's coming was already set in motion before Thor took him back to Asgard. You really want us to be facing whatever-it-is blind?" 

Rogers made a gesture of angry compliance, and Fury turned back to Stark. "Well?"

"Fine," Stark snapped. "I'll talk to him. And I'll make certain he enjoys it just as much as I'm going to."

~oOo~

The knock at the door heralded the arrival of the two women named Agnes and Catherine, who Loki vaguely remembered from the night before. Now he was feeling stronger and making a point to concentrate, he could indeed sense power radiating from the two. It all still felt quite blurred, as though he was trying to examine their abilities through deep water or dirty glass, but he was at least aware of them. 

The forces radiating from the women felt very different to those he could feel from Thor-- theirs were less powerful than his, but far more flexible-- and also from Annie. Loki did not name himself an expert on mortals, but now he was paying attention he realized George and Mitchell also felt very like Annie, which suggested none of the inhabitants of this dwelling was an ordinary mortal. 

He did not speak of his recognition: it seemed foolish for him to volunteer. No matter how small, any scrap of information he kept to himself had the potential to be useful to him, and certainly he would give nothing away if he could help it.

The women refused offers of breakfast, but accepted cups of tea. Annie vacated the sofa, crossing the room to join George and Mitchell. Catherine sat down next to Loki, who resisted the urge to slide away from her. Thor stood in the beaded doorway, giving his seat to Agnes.

The women looked quite harmless, especially the younger one, but Loki was hardly fool enough to trust surface impressions. The older woman, Catherine, wasted little time in addressing him. She smiled-- there was little warmth in the expression, but no threat either. It was the brisk smile of a healer, not the pleased one of a torturer about to go to work. Loki did not let his guard down, but neither did his heart accelerate or his breath catch as he faced her.

"You look better this morning," said Catherine. 

"I feel much better, thank you," Loki replied evenly. Alert for danger though he was, he also saw little purpose in deliberately antagonizing captors who were so intent upon acting as though they were his hosts. Better to play the game along with them, and wait for his chance. 

That this turned out to be exactly the wrong decision should not have come as a surprise, considering the theme of his recent past. 

Catherine's smile became rather… apologetic. The sudden change in her expression was alarming, but before Loki could move to escape she had already reached out to take hold of his hand with both of hers. Her grip was much stronger than he would have expected. She murmured words he could not understand, and warmth flowed from his hand up his arm, filling his chest. It would have been really quite pleasant, were it not for the fact he suddenly could not move. Fighting panic, he tried to push the sensation away, but his powers were still feeble and hers unexpectedly strong. Then he attempted to rise, but found himself unable to move, his muscles gone soft, powerless. It was a little like the sensation of floating in hot bathwater, except for the rising terror. 

"What-- what are you-- ?" It was hard to get the words out: his mouth felt numb, silver tongue truly turning to lead. From somewhere far away he could hear Annie protesting,

"What are you _doing_ to him? Catherine, stop!" He was vaguely gratified to note that she still sounded truthful. Truthful, and very angry. "Stop that _now."_

"I'm not hurting him," Catherine said calmly. "Loki-- can you hear me?" With a great effort, he was able to turn his eyes toward her. "I really am sorry to have to do this to you, but you must understand: you are, potentially, an extremely powerful sorcerer. We don't know where you came from or what your intentions are, and I am not willing to risk harm to my home while we try to find out."

He wondered whether she had served that _other_ Loki in this way, when he arrived here. 

"This effect will be temporary, I promise. But for safety's sake I need to place a binding spell on you." _Oh, no. No. Not that._ Loki redoubled his efforts to push away her power, felt himself nearly slipping free-- and then he collapsed again as though under the weight of Mjolnir. 

Which was a most unfortunate thought, since it only made the panic worse. The harder he tried to escape, the harder the weight pressed down on him, and the fact none of his efforts resulted in so much as a wriggle was even more frightening. 

Catherine's voice sounded clearly in his ear:

"I know something was done to you before, and the idea of it happening against must be very frightening to you. This is not the same. This spell won't deprive you of your magic, nor will it hurt you. I am simply going to bind your intentions to someone we can trust."

_Not Thor._ He tried to utter the words but by now his speech was completely incomprehensible. 

"Thor, will you-- ?" Catherine uttered the inevitable words. Unable to curse, Loki instead felt his eyes begin to water again, this time in frustration and anger and fear. To have endured everything he had, only to end as a _thrall_ to Thor, of all people--

From across the room, the hated voice spoke:

"No." There was a moment in which, surely, everyone who could move turned to look at him, and then Thor's voice went on, "I am the wrong choice-- it would only make matters worse. Perhaps one of you-- ?" 

It was impossible to tell whether Thor addressed the women or the inhabitants of the house. Loki was just able to move his eyes-- he was looking for Annie, but could not find her. Instead, his gaze fell on George. George would do, he was not _(afraid of)_ revolted by the thought of George. He willed Catherine to _pay attention to him._

For a wonder, Agnes suddenly spoke: 

"Do you mean you want George?"

"Me?" George squeaked. "That's not a good idea, I don't know how-- "

"You won't need to do anything. The spell is simply to forge a connection between you," Agnes coaxed. "So that he can't do anything _you_ would not."

"What, like skateboarding?" George said shrilly, then added incomprehensibly, "Anyway, I can't, what about… you know."

"He can sleep," Catherine replied, equally incomprehensibly. 

"I'm not, not a hero," he said feebly.

"No, you're a decent man who does the right thing whenever he can," Catherine said. "That's all this spell requires. I don't want to imprison him, or hedge him around with conditions, but I'm not letting him get stronger without any wards at all on his power. Not until we find out what we're dealing with. This is the safest and least painful means at our disposal. Will you do it?"

There was a long silence. Loki let his eyes close. If George refused, Thor would not, and then he would be bound with those same old chains, only now unable even to chafe at them--

_Please._ His own desperation was a foul taste in his mouth, but the one word was all he could think. _Please._

"All right." George sounded defeated. "I'll do it." 

Catherine had spoken truth, so far as it went: the spell truly did not hurt. He was unable to pay very much attention to the details, closed his eyes against the golden light that enveloped him. He was only aware of the sensation of warmth and of something, some sort of power, stealing through him, settling itself in his chest, curling around his heart. It was not painful. It was almost… soothing. 

The glow faded, and the warmth flowed away, and suddenly Loki was able to move. He flew to his feet, glaring down at the woman. 

"How do you feel?" Catherine asked, with the same calm sympathy.

"Ask _him,"_ Loki spat, glancing at George. All right, he was perhaps being ungrateful, but surely no one expected _gratitude_ of one who had just been bound to the will of another.

"That isn't how the spell works," Catherine said patiently. "George, tell him to sit down."

"Me? No!" George squawked, glancing around to his friends for support and clearly as unhappy about the situation as Loki. Catherine gave him a commanding look, and Loki braced himself to resist as George gave in and squeaked, "Loki, please sit down."

He was ready to fight against the compulsion, but there was none. He remained on his feet, with nothing forcing him to do _anything._ George looked dumbfounded and rather silly, and Loki--until he got his expression under control-- probably looked the same way. 

"Your free will has not been affected," Catherine explained, in a tone of calm patience that suddenly reminded Loki of his-- of the queen. He set his jaw against the spasm of emotion _(sentiment)_ that threatened. The woman went on, "Nor have your powers. You can make your own decisions-- for the most part-- and defend yourself if you need to. The only effect of this spell is, you will be prevented from doing anything George would find morally repugnant."

"So far he has done nothing of the sort, nor offered to," Thor pointed out rather snappishly. 

"So far, he's mostly been unconscious or asleep," Catherine replied, rather sternly. To Loki, she said, "We're willing to help you in whatever ways we can, but I will protect the community in which I live, whatever form that protection must take. I have no desire to hurt you, and I will remove the spell the moment I believe it is the appropriate thing to do. Do we understand each other?"

There was a very uncomfortable silence, while Loki considered his options. Effective imprisonment, or escape-- to take his chances with the monster outside? He was still so weak that any discussion of his powers was effectively theoretical, and besides, if he ran he would still have the spell upon him. The three who lived in this house seemed willing to care for him. Their offers of assistance should have been laughable… but it had been a very long time since anyone had offered him anything like help. 

The temptation was strong. 

"We really will find a way to help you," Annie spoke up. "We're not going to send you back to… wherever you came from. Promise."

Chewing his lip, Loki studied her. Once again, he was certain she spoke the truth. 

He turned back to Catherine.

"We understand each other."

~oOo~

As a means of passing the time, pacing had little to recommend it. It being all he had to do, however, Loki did it, huddling into himself miserably with his hands pressed to his chest as he made his turns about the cell. He was by turns uncomfortably hot and then shivering with cold, his head ached wretchedly, and even his bones felt sore. He was no longer sweating as he had been earlier, but he felt very thirsty. What he wanted, with a piercing need, was a cup of tea.

A cup of tea and his own bed, in his own home. He wanted that so much he had difficulty concentrating on the other details of his predicament, which all things considered was rather surprising. 

At the same time, he also had trouble holding onto the idea of _his own bed, his own home--_ his thoughts were becoming more and more confused as time went on. He was unsure whether flu was always so unpleasant, in which case it was no wonder humans made such a _thing_ of vaccination against the disease, or whether his condition was aggravated by the effects of his magic being partially bound. 

Regardless, it was increasingly difficult to try to think of a way out of his problems. The combination of confusion, light-headedness, thirst, and his assorted other miseries worked against his ability to follow any particular train of thought to a conclusion. He did make a few attempts to remove the cursed shackles, but being imbued with magic they naturally tightened in response to his efforts. Then, when the guards noticed what he was doing, Simmons-- he thought it was Simmons, although perhaps they had changed places without him noticing-- went to stand suggestively by the dropping mechanism until Loki stopped. 

This business of silent surveillance by the blank-faced, inhuman-looking guards was oppressive as well. He tried to talk to them, long past the point he had accepted that they would not respond. At first, he was mostly establishing the character he was playing. _("I have no idea why I am under arrest, I am puzzled and afraid.")_ As the time dragged by, he talked to them partly for the comfort of hearing any voice at all. 

_In Asgard, when he was young, when no one would speak to him, he would talk to the servants as they cleaned his chambers. He knew it made them uncomfortable, that good manners dictated he leave them to their work, but sometimes he could not help himself. After his mother had spoken to him about it, told him to stop, he would read aloud from his spell books as he worked. He pretended doing so made it easier to concentrate, but really it was just to hear anything but the silence of his rooms._

The thin worried voice that buzzed in his ears became annoying. He brought his shackled hands to his mouth, and the voice was silenced. For a moment he was unsure whether the voice had been coming from his own mouth, or from someone else. Someone invisible. 

_Perhaps that other Loki, the one no one believed in._

Eventually, dizziness overcame his reservations about the bench at the back of the cell. It was either sit on the bench or lie on the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and closed his eyes. 

After… some time, he knew not how long, a new sound intruded on the buzzing in his head and the sound of his own congested breathing. Loki opened his eyes and looked up as the doors to the lift opened. 

~oOo~

"I don't need a keeper, Greatest Generation," Stark complained as he and Rogers stepped into the elevator. 

"I just want to see him up close for myself," Rogers replied calmly. "Don't worry, you'll get to do all the talking."

"And you get to report back to the principal?" Stark needled. 

"Sure, if every surveillance camera on this level breaks down at the same time," Rogers said. Stark knew full well about the cameras-- most of them were Stark tech in the first place-- so he just smirked. Rogers added patiently, "I'm not the guy you're supposed to be provoking. Don't waste your breath."

"Plenty to go around," Stark assured him, and the elevator doors opened. The two Avengers stepped out on the steel-grate walkway in front of the glass cell just as, inside, the seated prisoner looked up. 

Whatever reaction they were expecting from the so-called God of Mischief, it wasn't a look of relief and a big smile as he scrambled to his feet.

~oOo~

"Tony!" Loki exclaimed, as hope bloomed within him-- to die horribly at the expression of shock and revulsion on Tony Stark's face. Next to him, Steve Rogers also looked as though he had turned over a rock and found many-legged creatures underneath, wriggling toward him. 

_This Steve and Tony were not his friends._

He was already halfway across the cell when the realization hit him, when he remembered where he was. He came to an awkward halt in the middle of the floor. The shackles prevented him wringing his hands together so, but he found himself opening and closing them anxiously under the hostility of the two Avengers. 

_Steve and Tony were not his friends._

Tony Stark spoke first. 

"Well, if it isn't Loki of Asgard, come back to grace us mere mortals with his presence," the human drawled, his eyes glittering black and his expression radiating contempt. 

"Loki of Bristol, these days," corrected Loki, who was beginning to hate the sound of the other appellation. It did not refer to him. It did _not._ A jolt of panic compelled him to go on: "Please, Tony, hear me out: there has been a terrible misunderstanding. I realize your reality has had some sort of trouble with the Loki who belongs here, but-- "

Stark smiled. It was not a pleasant smile at all, looked all wrong on the familiar face, a combination of arrogance and anger and malice and satisfaction.

"And when you say _belongs here,_ we can understand you to mean _belongs here, in this cell,_ like _the war criminal you are,_ right? 

Loki flinched. _War criminal_ was, of course, accurate. On the other hand, he was quite sure Stark was not speaking of the destruction he had wrought upon Jotunheim. 

Changing tacks slightly-- because no matter how much he did not want to face the Avengers' accusations, he really did need to know what he was accused of on this realm-- Loki tried again:

"As I have explained-- " _repeatedly, to everyone I have met so far in this Norns-be-damned reality where no one will listen to me\-- _"to Director Fury, I do not know what charges have been brought against me. I believe there is a-- " he decided at the last minute not to saw _law--_ "rule that says I must be told of them?" 

He decided, for the moment, against attempting to invoke what he believed was his right to legal representation-- something about Tony Stark suggested he would be pleased to remind Loki that this right did not apply to non-humans, and Loki was frankly not in any state for such a conversation.

Stark smirked. Loki was familiar with the smirks of Tony Stark. He saw them on an almost daily basis, when he consorted with the Avengers, when Tony teased his friends. This was not a version of the expression he could recall ever having seen directed at himself, not even during that first encounter when Iron Man had believed Loki to have placed a curse on Captain America.

"How about you tell us about this new army Thor says you're planning to bring here-- "

Momentarily losing control of himself, Loki shouted, "I do not even know about the _old_ army Thor said I brought here! Will someone tell me what I am supposed to have _done?"_

_He had not done this. Whatever it was, he had not. It was not him._

In the back of his mind a little voice began to whisper, _You have done so many things, committed so many crimes. How certain are you?_

Rogers looked, for a moment, as if he would speak, but glanced at Stark and held his peace. Stark, the little smile curdling on his face until it made the man look nearly diabolical, drawled, 

"Oh, surely you haven't forgotten all about the Chitauri already."

"The _what?"_ Even as he spoke, Loki had the guilty feeling the name should be familiar to him. And indeed, after a moment or two he placed it: when, as a child, he read stories of other realms _(where he might be wanted, might be loved)_ he had found references to this race. Mostly he found references to them attacking other realms, and so he had little interest in learning more about them: Loki was not exactly averse to battle, but those readings had been for another purpose entirely, and the Chitauri had nothing to offer him. 

Apparently, the other Loki had a different opinion. 

The _other_ Loki. Not him.

"The Chitauri," Stark repeated, enunciating carefully. "Don't tell me you've forgotten your old allies already? Although, really, that's the impression we get from Thor: that allies don't mean anything to you, you're always ready to stick a knife into anybody stupid enough to trust you-- "

The heat, followed by ice, that flashed through Loki's veins had nothing to do with the flu. The wave of guilt and shame and anger and defensiveness that washed over him was an old companion: the feeling of having both _done_ monstrous wrong and having _been_ monstrously wronged. A bolt of pain flared through his chest and set off an episode of coughing that should have made his eyes water-- he was vaguely surprised it did not-- and nearly made him vomit. 

By the time he had recovered, it was far too late to defend himself _(against the truth),_ to excuse or argue. Loki found himself clutching at the one avenue that seemed left to him, the one person who could _always_ be trusted to remain calm, to stay objective, to listen and examine the facts and _see_ what was in front of him, no matter what his personal opinion might be. 

Who would _tell him_ he was not that other Loki, no matter how confused he was beginning to be. 

"May I… may I please speak to Agent Coulson?" he choked out. 

~oOo~

Afterward, Rogers found time to be grateful Stark hadn't been wearing the suit when they confronted Loki: it was hard enough to manhandle the suddenly-raging Stark back into the elevator after that mock-innocent crack about Coulson. The chaos that broke out all around them was hard to process-- Stark screaming at the guards to _drop him, drop the bastard_ and Rogers shouting _negative, negative_ and wrestling him into the elevator and the guards running to back him up as if _Stark_ was the dangerous one and Rogers shouting to them to _stand fast_ and somewhere Loki still taunting them with his fake-confused cries of _what is the matter, what has happened to Agent Coulson--_

\--and then they were in the little metal crate, heading down to the deck, and Stark was leaning back against the metal wall with his eyes closed and his face twisted in pain. Rogers had already known Banner wasn't the only member of the team with anger management issues, but this wasn't just anger. There was real grief here, too.

"Bastard," Stark finally said, quietly.

"Yeah," Rogers agreed. 

"Should have let me drop him."

"I know."

~oOo~

Loki sat on the bench, doubled over as his trapped magic raged inside him, hands pressed to his chest. _No. No, not possible._

But the violence of Stark's reaction, the _abhorrence_ on his face and that of Rogers-- it all pointed to one solution, one answer to his question. 

_What happened to Agent Coulson?_

An idiot could answer that, given the evidence:

_Coulson was dead._

_Loki had killed him._

But he was _not_ that Loki. He was not, he was _not._

He repeated it in his mind, held tightly onto the thought as his grip on himself wavered. 

_How certain are you?_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** I've made quite a lot, in this story, of how young Housemates!Loki looks in comparison to Avengers!Loki. It's really quite striking to my eyes. I'll add, however, that the same is true of the **Being Human** housemates in the first series/season, as opposed to the later ones. Mitchell and especially Annie in particular are just ridiculously young-looking, so if you're looking up reference images of the housemates I recommend you check they're from series/season one, which is where my alternate universe has stayed.
> 
> Speaking of age, and in case any readers are unfamiliar with the broad setup of **Being Human** \-- vampires gain greater powers as they age. At the top of vampire society (but generally isolated from the rest of the community) are the Old Ones who, apparently, mostly reside in Bolivia these days. Ivan, who was infected (or, as the vampires would say, "recruited") in the mid-eighteenth century, has been referred to as an Old One. Herrick, infected in about 1890, was not (his influence seems to have been mostly a matter of his own strength of character), and neither is Mitchell (infected by Herrick during World War I.) The powers of the Old Ones include the ability to control younger vampires. Based on what happens at the end of series/season four, it appears the most powerful Old One(s) can even control other Old Ones. 
> 
> And this is germane because those new characters I introduced in Chapter Ten suddenly have quite a lot to say for themselves. Well, one of them. 
> 
> _**Warnings:** All prior warnings still apply. Also, this is an alternate-universes fic which includes one universe with characters who kind of suck. Please remember that  both universes are my own creation. Neither of them need (or should) be considered canon._

B. Edwards Funeral Directors had not had a genuine client in nearly thirty years, but that was not to say there weren't plenty of dead bodies coming through the doors. 

Most of them under their own power. 

"So what's this all about, Ivan?" asked a weather-beaten vampire who still went to work on the docks every night, just as he had in life. Bristol had, in the last dozen years, become a great deal more dangerous for stowaway illegal immigrants. It was also a great deal safer for a certain class of traveller attempting to enter or leave Britain in secrecy. 

Ivan lounged against the wall under the curious eyes of the entire vampire community of Bristol. 

_Nearly_ the entire vampire community. 

"I've been approached with a… proposition-- " Ivan deliberately used Wyndham's word, entirely for the pleasure of seeing Daisy, lolling cat-like in one of the few chairs, grin. "I'll tell you straight I don't think much of it, but I've agreed to present it for your discussion and decision."

There was, as he had expected, a little undertone of pleasurable interest in the group as he spoke. Herrick, for all his talk of _next step in evolution_ and the _superiority of their kind,_ had tended toward the _iron-fisted dictator_ model of leadership. In other words, he decided what the vampires would do, and it had always seemed safest to the others to go ahead and do it. Vampires might be superior to humans, but Herrick held himself superior to the general run of vampires.

That model had its advantages, of course. There were few things more tiresome than listening to a chorus of nitwits-- vampire or human, most people were nitwits-- each arguing for their own point of view. Despotism was more efficient. 

The problem-- one of the problems-- with that approach was, if all the decisions were made by one individual, then everyone else felt-- everyone else _was_ \-- quite entitled to lay all the blame on that individual when anything went wrong. Herrick, in his time leading the Bristol vampires, had put down several rebellions that could have been serious, had Herrick not been as ruthless as he was ambitious. It worked in the short term, but discontent tended to breed more discontent, and there was no telling whether they'd have put up with him forever. At the very least, it didn't foster an air of happy cooperation.

Ivan had also always believed that if Herrick had handled Mitchell with even a smattering of respect or sensitivity, the entire vampire community would be in this room right now. Doubts weren't unknown among vampires, although it was a very long time since Ivan himself had experienced any. Trying to bully someone out of feeling them, especially someone as proud and independent as Mitchell, was bound to end in tears.

Another problem with Herrick's method was the sheer amount of effort required to keep hold of ultimate power over a group as strong-willed and self-centred as a crowd of vampires. They were even worse than humans. Herrick, as far as Ivan could see, had devoted every minute of his time to staying ahead of and enforcing his will over the others. And what sort of a life-- as it were-- was _that?_

Those who described Ivan as lacking in ambition were quite right: he was only in charge now because, with both Herrick and Mitchell out of the picture, there really wasn't another vampire with both clear seniority and common sense in the city. It was a tiresome business, but he'd found that, after Herrick, the prospect of a leader who led by consultation instead of intimidation was an appealing one to the community. It was of course easy for Ivan to use that sentiment to his own advantage: just now the simple fact he'd handed the decision back to the group-- despite the fact he had more than enough power to enforce his own will, and everyone knew it-- had actually prejudiced most of them in favour of Ivan's point of view. 

Not all of them. Seth, standing next to the door of the cold storage unit, was scowling. He'd never gotten over Herrick's death, and had more than once run afoul of the God of Mischief's enchanted rhinoceroses in attempts to avenge him. Eventually he'd given it up, but he still objected to Ivan on the fairly obvious grounds that he _wasn't Herrick--_ literally, and also in terms of plans and ambitions-- and so could be counted on to take the opposite side of any question. 

Ivan wasn't overly worried about that: everyone knew Seth and his prejudices and most of the vampires ignored him. Also, Ivan was also far from the only vampire in Bristol who actually found the rhino charm rather entertaining, even as he respected it. If Bristol was going to play host to the God of Mischief, well, it was nice to think he had _style._ Seth, having no sense of humour at all, disagreed, but his influence over the others had always been limited. 

And speaking of _influence over the others,_ that was exactly the reason Ivan had chosen to present this proposal himself, instead of allowing Wyndham to do it. Wyndham had no particular power over Ivan, but he could quite easily bend most younger vampires to his will. That idea didn't suit Ivan at all. If Bristol got itself into what he could only foresee as a terrible mess, well, Ivan wanted it to be their own decision and their own damn fault. He had little taste for either wearing the consequences himself or having to track down Edgar Bloody Wyndham to put it on him, later.

He set that thought aside, glanced around at the interested faces, and went on, 

"You all remember Herrick." It wasn't a question, since after Herrick's death the vampire community had pretty much stopped recruiting new members. Everyone in this room had been around-- some of them recruited-- during the old leader's time. A few of the vampires nodded anyway. Ivan went on, in a wearily neutral tone, "And you all remember his… plans." The little hesitation made him sound like Wyndham, and Daisy wrinkled her nose at him, but it successfully conveyed his own opinion of Herrick's… plans. 

Everyone nodded. Ivan went calmly on, 

"I've personally never had much interest in that sort of thing. I like a quiet life and a long one, myself. And since his time, of course, things have changed rather a lot."

_Changed rather a lot_ was _rather an understatement,_ of course. Herrick had been confident that, even outnumbered, the vampires' superior strength and intelligence would be more than a match for the humans. He might even have been right, in the days before superheroes became both active and _interested._ Iron Man's appearance a few years ago had been food for thought. Iron Man's interest in the world beyond his own borders would-- or at any rate _should--_ have given even Herrick pause. 

Now that Iron Man had been joined by the rest of _the Avengers,_ and especially since it became commonly known that one of the Avengers had a superpowered brother _living in Bristol,_ the odds had definitely swung to favour the humans. Maybe if that last factor hadn't been present, vampires who thought like Herrick might have gambled on American superheroes not paying much attention to whatever happened outside their own country, but there it was: Thor the God of Thunder had a vested interest in what went on in Bristol. And his brother, incidentally, was not exactly a pushover, either, even without the rhinoceroses. 

Now, it might have been interesting to know what the humans would make of the fact that their local quasi-superhero _knew_ about the vampires, and had chosen to leave them mostly alone. Since the question couldn't be asked without _revealing_ the existence of vampires, Ivan was content to let it remain a mildly interesting matter of rhetoric. 

The matter of the local quasi-superhero himself was germane to the immediate discussion. 

"The proposition was brought to me by Edgar Wyndham, some of you surely know him." There was a mutter from the group. Most of them did, in fact, know Wyndham. Unfortunately, quite a few of them feared him. Ivan, projecting confidence, went serenely on, "It involves an outside agent who believes he can, if not recruit, then at least neutralize the God of Mischief." 

Ivan was understating the case quite a lot: Doom had expressed himself in terms of absolute certainty rather than belief. In Ivan's opinion Wyndham's new ally was a ranting braggart, particularly given he was known to have in the past got his arse handed to him by a man whose superpower consisted of _reshaping himself like silly putty._ Ivan's estimation aside, Doom had insisted he would bring the God of Mischief in not only on his side, but at his heel, rendering him Doom's own personal attack dog. 

Based on past evidence that frankly sounded like a prescription for a rhinoceros enema, as both Ivan and Daisy agreed when their unwelcome guests had left. Which could be good for a laugh, really, if not for the inconvenience. 

Ivan would have invited both Wyndham and his pal Doom to go piss up a rope, except it was very unlikely indeed that Wyndham was acting entirely on his own authority here. Ivan had no fear of and little respect for Edgar Wyndham, but there were others more powerful than he, and Ivan had no inclination at all to either piss them off or call their attention to himself. 

Or Daisy. 

Ivan sighed and got right down to it.

"The question, baldly put, is: are we going to join them?"

There was a silence, and then a babble of voices. Ivan let it go on until he judged they'd have gotten the worst of it out of their systems. Then he raised his hand. 

Somewhat to his surprise, the hubbub faded into silence, and he said, 

"All right, let's be orderly about this. Everyone will get a chance to speak."

"Of course we're going to join them!" shouted Seth, utterly predictably. Daisy's was far from the only pair of eyes that rolled at the sound of his voice. Really, having Seth speak up on the side of the plan was almost all the help Ivan needed to get it voted down. 

"I don't think it's a good idea," said a spotty-faced, adolescent-looking vampire named Geoff. His appearance worked against anyone taking him very seriously, but he was voicing what a lot of them were certainly thinking. 

"I agree," said the dockworker. "I've got no objection to a peaceful life, me, and messing about with that Loki is just asking for trouble."

"And I don't believe he'd turn on the humans," Geoff added, perhaps emboldened by the agreement and the knowledge he was on Ivan's side. "Not with his brother in the Avengers, or after all the trouble he's gone to, protecting their kids and that. What's in it for him, eh? Doesn't seem reasonable."

"I have to say, I agree with you," Ivan said, with convincingly spontaneous frankness. "Wyndham's ally says he has a plan. Myself, I'd prefer to know it for certain it worked before I put much faith in it."

There was a general mutter of agreement, to Ivan's considerable but carefully-concealed relief. When the meeting broke up half an hour later, Ivan and Daisy left with a firm mandate to tell Wyndham that Bristol's vampires intended to remain neutral until the allegiance of the so-called God of Mischief was proven to have been secured. 

So far, so good. Now what Ivan needed to do was have a quiet word with Mitchell.

~oOo~

Even in his short time in the household, Loki had learned the kitchen was the place where serious conversations were held. The binding spell completed, Catherine had acquiesced to a strong request from Mitchell and Thor to accompany them into the kitchen to _have a word._ She had seemed unintimidated by the request, which given the whiff he'd had of her power didn't surprise Loki at all. He was unsure whether Mitchell and George didn't realize how strong she was, or if the two expected Thor to back their objections, to stand up for Loki. 

Two days ago, Loki would have sneered at the idea. Just this minute, he somehow wasn't quite sure. 

Annie remained with him while the others crowded into the little kitchen to hiss at one another, their voices still too quiet for him to hear. He should have been afraid of what they were saying, out of his hearing like this, but something in Annie's manner was reassuring. Besides, the adrenaline recoil had left him tired out again, and he slumped on the sofa as though his bones had all turned to water. 

Annie sat on the other end of the sofa with the little dog in her lap, her legs pulled up under herself, regarding him with a kind of guilty sympathy. He should be able to use that to his own advantage. He should cultivate that, and use it. Later

"I'm really sorry she did that," Annie said, without preamble. "We had no idea that was what she was planning."

He might also be able to use her _sentiment_ to his own advantage. Later. At the moment, he was in no condition to think about it.

"I am not injured," he shrugged, at length. 

"That's not the point," Annie insisted. "We never would have agreed to do a thing like that to you."

Loki almost laughed. "Really? _I_ would have." Annie looked sorry, but Loki was too tired to make any more of it. Instead, he watched idly as the two little black and white cats came creeping down the stairs, looking around cautiously, ears and nostrils working and their tails high in suspicion.

_Looking for the other Loki,_ he thought. The idea, for the moment, brought only a small sting of annoyance. 

"Would you like some more clementines?" Annie broke into his train of thought. He blinked at her, and Annie clarified, "The orange fruit you had earlier. It looks like you might have to eat a little bit of food quite often, until you feel better. You can tell me if you're hungry, or-- the clementines are in a bowl on the kitchen table. If you want one you can help yourself."

Loki kept his expression perfectly blank as he fought down the memory of what, very recently, would have befallen him for showing the arrogance to _help himself._

In _any_ sense of the term. 

Annie winced, and he vaguely noted that _perfectly blank,_ far from deflecting her interest, actually seemed to be taken as a warning sign. All she said, however, was,

"Our Loki, the Loki who lives here, he didn't like to take things without asking at first, either. Which was strange, wasn't it, considering he was a prince and everything?" Loki looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, but Annie was watching the little black and white cats, her expression faraway. "I mean, it wasn't that he was expecting us to wait on him, it was more that, that he was afraid of what we'd do if he annoyed us. Not hurt him, I don't mean that exactly, it was more that…when he came here, he thought he'd been thrown away by everyone he cared about. I don't think he could stand the thought of it happening again."

Loki realized he was holding his breath. He let it out as inconspicuously as possible, still hanging on Annie's every word. She did not appear to pay attention to him.

"He fell," she said, her tone reminiscent, almost dreamy. "From Asgard. He'd… he'd made some terrible mistakes, had done some terrible things, and he thought, he thought he couldn't ever make up for them, that he could never be forgiven, so he-- he let himself fall." Loki was frankly staring at her, and when she turned her head it was impossible to pretend he had not been. 

"And he came here," Loki whispered. He did not mean to whisper, but he could not have gotten anything else past the constriction in his throat. 

_Thor had been banished in supposed punishment, had returned confirmed in his own righteousness and arrogance._

_That other Loki had let go, had fallen, looking for death, had instead found this little dwelling, with its inhabitants who gave him food, and let him stay, and missed him._

_He himself had let go, let go in grief and desperation, looking for an end, for peace, and he had found--_

Annie was holding his hand, making soothing noises as she petted it, and he realized he was trembling, was shaking violently as his mind and his body tried not to remember. 

"Is that what happened to you?" she asked gently. "Did you fall, too?" He nodded, unable to look at her. "And-- someone found you?" He nodded again. Annie squeezed his hand, and he let her hold it.

Across the room, the two little cats were looking at him with puzzled expressions. After a moment one of them, the mostly-black one, trotted across the room and leaped up onto the sofa between himself and Annie. It put its little white forepaws on his leg, stretched upward to sniff at him. 

Looking at it, Loki briefly made himself consider catching the little beast by its slender neck and throttling it. The animal was so small, its neck so delicate, he could snap it before Annie could shriek, before Thor could charge out of the kitchen and stop him. He pictured the action so vividly he could almost feel his hand move.

He was not actually going to _do_ it, he was simply curious to know what would happen--

_Why would you want to do that?_ The voice in his head was not angry or outraged, simply high and puzzled and slightly alarmed. The picture of himself harming the cat broke up inside his head and floated away. 

He had no sensible answer for the voice, because he had been expecting something else, pain or paralysis, not _questions._

_I was only thinking._ His own voice in his own head was defensive. Loki watched as the little cat sniffed at his leg, made up its mind, and climbed into his lap. The second cat, watching across the room as if to see what befell its sibling, now came scampering to join the first. Instead of pushing the black one aside, the second cat cuddled into it, and both began to purr. He could feel the vibration through the fabric of his soft trousers. 

Annie reached out as though she would touch his hair, then changed her mind and let her cool hand rest upon his shoulder. 

"Well," she said, _"we've_ found you, now. You're safe here. Whatever happened before, you're safe now. All right?" 

_I will never be safe,_ he thought, but did not give voice to the knowledge. Instead, he nodded. 

Then, whether to distract himself or Annie he did not know, Loki looked across the room to the bookshelf that stood against the wall near the entry hall. One shelf was entirely occupied by an uncouth mechanical device, and to change the subject Loki asked, 

"What is that?"

Annie followed his gaze. "Oh. That's the stereo. It's… well, we use it to play music. Music that someone else has recorded for us to listen to. All those, those things that aren't books, they're music recordings."

"Ah." And then, conscious of poking at himself for the mere sake of causing pain, he said diffidently, "I suppose _your_ Loki is an expert on the music of this realm?"

Annie's regard was penetrating but kind. "No, I wouldn't say that. He likes music well enough, but there are a lot of other things that interest him a lot more. Would you like me to play you something?"

Loki looked down at the two little cats in his lap. "If you would care to."

~oOo~

"Okay, just so we're perfectly clear here," Mitchell said, injecting all the venom into his whisper that he could manage, _"that_ kind of rubbish is not happening here again. All right?"

Catherine didn't look anything like as abashed as you'd expect of someone pinned under the gaze of four pairs of angry eyes, especially considering Agnes looked nearly as angry as Mitchell, George, and Thor. Of course, back in about 1612 Catherine had been hanged for witchcraft, which suggested she'd been the recipient of harsher looks in her time. 

"I believe I made my reasons quite clear," she replied calmly. "I have no intention of waiting until his powers are fully restored to _see what happens._ Not when the safety of this city may be at stake."

"That's rich," Mitchell sneered, "considering the population of _this city_ includes a _dirty great lot of vampires._ I suppose you've got plans for _us, too,_ have you?"

It had been quite some time since Mitchell had last openly identified himself with the vampires, and he was conscious of George's startled eyes on him. 

"Have the vampires come here through a tear in the fabric of reality?" Catherine asked, her tone brightly interested. "I was under the impression they are native to this dimension. As is the Loki who _should_ be here in the place of this one." 

Agnes, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if she was developing a headache-- Mitchell completely sympathized-- broke in on the argument. "What's done is done. Catherine has promised to remove the spell as soon as it makes sense to do so. I plan to hold you to that," she added, looking sternly at her friend, who nodded. "Very well. What shall we do next?"

"Figure out how to get our Loki back," said George, in the same breath as Thor said, "Find and rescue my brother." Mitchell nodded. 

With the expression of someone expecting another argument, Catherine said, 

"It will take a considerable amount of power to perform a spell like that. And, considering we're convinced the two Lokis have traded places, the simplest way to do it would be to trade them back."

Mitchell was shaking his head before she had finished speaking. He was conscious of a knot of guilt in his stomach as he thought about _their_ Loki, probably in a terrible mess and praying for rescue, but he couldn't-- _they_ couldn't--

"No," George said, quite definitely. "Not happening. We're not sending this one back." He flushed under Catherine's regard and went on, "I know what you're going to say, you're going to tell us again that this Loki might have been chained up by, by law enforcement, because he committed some sort of crime."

"It is a possibility," Catherine pointed out. "Even your Loki, the one who belongs here, has committed crimes. And Thor's told us those chains came from Asgard."

"Yes, well," George said, "apparently this Loki was _starved and beaten up_ by law enforcement, too. All right, maybe a lot of that happened before he was arrested. Let's say that's the case. That muzzle still says nothing good about whoever had him, whether it was in legal custody or not. Maybe someone else starved him and let him half-die of thirst before he was arrested-- well, whoever took him in custody didn't do anything about it, did they? As far as I'm concerned, it's the same principle as extradition: we don't extradite prisoners to places where they'll be tortured or put to death. We're not sending him back."

Catherine didn't sigh, but she looked as if she wanted to. 

"All right. What do you suggest?"

Thor spoke up. "I am doing very little good here." Mitchell and George started to protest, but he waved them to silence. "You know it is true. I wish… I wish he could trust me, but my presence frightens him, and I fear… he has not yet come to trust you fully, either. I fear that, instead of your confidence in me inspiring the same in him, the reverse may happen: your associating with me may hinder his inclination to trust you." 

George and Mitchell winced and exchanged a glance. Thor was making a terrible kind of sense.

"What do you suggest?" Mitchell asked. 

"I could return to Asgard, and ask advice of our-- of _my--_ father. And, since Dr. Stephen Strange is a sorcerer of this realm, I may also return to the Avengers, to find the correct channel to ask his assistance." Nodding to Catherine and Agnes, he added, "He may be willing to work with you on this matter."

"Three is a good number for sorcery," Agnes said, and Catherine nodded. "All right, that makes sense. Good luck."

Thor smiled rather grimly. "Thank you." 

"Are you really sure-- ?" George faltered. "That this is the best thing?"

Thor nodded. "When I was banished, my father deliberately sent me to Midgard. He did so because he believed I could come to little harm on this realm, even in a mortal form, until I had learned the lessons he set me. When Loki fell, he was not directed anywhere in particular. He went where he needed to go, to receive the help he needed. And this is where he came. Perhaps this other Loki needs to be here as well, with you." He looked from George to Mitchell, and his smile had considerably more warmth as he added, "Take care of him, and of yourselves." 

"Will do," Mitchell said, with all the confidence he could fake. 

~oOo~

"Well, that was a clusterfuck," Fury remarked, not sounding particularly surprised. _"You_ were supposed to get under _his_ skin, Stark. Not the other way around." Stark, head in his hands, didn't answer. Everyone else-- except Banner, who had excused himself on the grounds all this tension _wasn't good for the Other Guy--_ continued to watch the security feed of the prisoner, who was still sitting doubled over on the bench. He hadn't moved since Stark and Rogers left him. 

Rogers uneasily cleared his throat, and the others looked at him. 

"What?" Fury prompted impatiently. 

"I just… I was thinking…" There was no easy way to say this, so he finally just spit it out: "What if he's telling the truth?"

"Are you serious?" Fury asked. For once the Director wasn't shouting. If anything, he sounded kind of amused by Rogers' naiveté. 

"Yes, sir, I am," Rogers insisted, although he felt himself flushing under all those incredulous eyes. "Think about it-- what do we know about Loki of Asgard? He's egotistical, fancies himself a king, believes he's above all of us-- "

"'An ant has no quarrel with a boot'," Fury murmured, and it was obvious he was quoting someone. No points at all for guessing who. 

"Exactly, and we're the ants," Rogers pointed out. "I find it very hard to believe he'd-- He's _proud._ He wouldn't-- I mean, I don't _think_ he'd come up with a play like this. All humble and anxious and powerless. I think he'd consider it beneath him."

Thor sighed, and his voice was heavy with regret as he said, "For centuries he made play of being my friend and companion, as well as brother. For exactly as long as it suited his purpose."

Rogers blinked, and even Stark looked up. "Seriously?" Rogers asked. "I had the impression-- I mean, from the way you talked and acted, that first time around, I thought he'd pretty well always been evil."

Thor shrugged. "I was deceived," he said simply. "You must understand, Loki is a more than talented liar, and his goals-- in this case, to destroy that which I value-- are always paramount. He is willing to do almost anything to achieve them."

Rogers rubbed his forehead. "So, based on your knowledge of your brother, you think this really is a stunt he'd pull?"

"Hell, Rogers, he's got you halfway convinced," Barton pointed out. 

"Well, he's convincing," Romanov pointed out kindly. "And it's one of those stories that sounds so crazy you'd think it almost has to be true. He's _counting_ on us thinking that. He has to: it's the only play he's got left."

Rogers thought it over, and let out a sigh. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Sorry."

"Forget it," Fury replied, continuing to watch the feed, and it was evident he meant his words literally. "Romanov? You're up."

~oOo~

This time, when the lift doors opened, Loki did not rise from his seat on the bench. He simply raised his head as Agent Romanov stepped onto the steel-grille catwalk, alone this time. Although he was at pains to conceal it, he was relieved to see her: he had far fewer confusing memories of her than he did of Tony and Steve-- Stark and Rogers-- and so it mattered less that she despised him. 

He did not speak: it had been made abundantly evident that no one believed his story, and so he held his tongue, waiting for the agent to make the first overture. 

Romanov stepped right up to the glass, smiling pleasantly. "Hi, Loki." She did not add _of Asgard._ The relief was surprising, and he felt himself warming to her. The feeling lasted for as long as it took her to say, "We've talked it over, Director Fury and the Avengers and I, and we agree that your story is probably true. We just need to verify some of the details. I hope you understand that?"

"Of course," Loki replied carefully, and smiled in his turn, taking pains to conceal his sudden anxiety. 

"You say you live in Bristol, England?" she asked, exactly as if she believed him. 

She did not. Loki was a liar, it was one of his few abilities-- _talents, a talented liar--_ and the other side of that coin was, he also possessed a finely-honed ability to detect falsehoods in others. Even in his current condition, Loki was not deceived. Agent Romanov was also talented, and highly trained, but she was a human, and Loki had been telling falsehoods since her ancestors were barefoot children. 

"I do," he said carefully, with a sense of wading in dark water and expecting the dropoff at any moment. He opened and closed his hands anxiously, too disoriented and sick to control the action, and watched her narrowly. 

"And exactly where in Bristol do you live?" Romanov asked. 

Loki hesitated. Before his eyes, an image rose of the steep, hilly streets of Totterdown, with the brightly-painted little terraced houses running down to the River Avon below, and his own little pink house on the corner of Windsor Terrace and Henry Street. 

He did not know who lived there. 

He did not know who lived there, but they were innocent, in their little terraced houses, and these were enemies. He could not send this Agent Romanov, and this Director Fury, to frighten and harass the people who lived in those bright little houses. He should have thought of this, that claiming Bristol for himself would turn his enemies' attention toward his city.

"I cannot tell you," he said, as politely as he could, hands flexing anxiously. "It is after all not the same city."

Romanov gave him a coaxing look. "But surely the city in our reality would have some of the same neighbourhoods as in yours? We're just verifying the-- "

"I am sorry," Loki interrupted, keeping his eyes on her face to help anchor his thoughts. "I cannot tell you."

A moment later, Agent Romanov stepped back into the lift and went away.

~oOo~

"Hey boss," Romanov said into her communicator as the elevator descended. "It's like we thought: he couldn’t give me any details about where he lives, and he got mighty twitchy when I pressed him. He's definitely lying. Probably pulled the name _Bristol_ at random from the head of someone he'd mind-controlled."

"Okay," Fury's voice came back through the com link. "Time to go on to plan B. I'll clear it with Thor. You join Stark and Barton and get set up."

"Roger that," Romanov replied, and ended the transmission.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we take a detour to assure certain other characters they haven't been forgotten. Among other things. 
> 
> **Warnings:** All prior warnings still apply. Also, several readers have legitimately commented on what SHIELD or Fury would or would not have done in a real interrogation, or a real spy story. I don't work for intelligence services, nor am I planning to do in-depth research on interrogation techniques for this story. Also, I'll remind everyone that **The Avengers** was a movie in which: people under helpless mind-control by the villain still made independent decisions (not to kill Fury, to build a killswitch into the portal) that foiled his plans; Fury made the incredibly stupid decision to bring Banner onto the helicarrier in the first place; the Hulk, in the final act, suddenly developed the ability to control and aim himself, and also tell friend from foe--
> 
> I generally try not to make my characters do random things in service of the plot, but in this case canon was rife with actions and decisions by the characters solely to move the plot forward, with little regard for internal consistency or logic. So I've decided I won't worry about times when that happens in this story!

It was a lovely spring morning as Thor walked along Windsor Terrace toward Victoria Park. By now he was well enough acquainted with his brother's new home to be aware he should appreciate such days, but for the moment he was far too worried to do so. 

It had been painful indeed, the way this Loki had gone still, his expression closed and watchful, when Thor emerged from the kitchen. It painfully reminded him of the way his own brother had looked for all those centuries. 

Sternly, Thor reminded himself that was mostly his mind playing tricks: _his_ Loki had indeed been silent and guarded for many years, but _this_ Loki was afraid in a way, Thor knew, his own brother never had been. Or rather, _his_ Loki had been afraid of a great many things, chief among them loneliness, but Thor himself-- for the most part-- had not been one of them. 

No, despite Mitchell's reassurances, Thor was persuaded this Loki feared Thor in particular, and so had avoided interacting with him as he climbed the stairs to Loki's bedchamber. There he changed out of the human clothing his brother kept for his visits, replaced it neatly in a storage box under the bed, and resumed his usual garb. There was relief in doing so: Thor was by now accustomed to wearing Midgardian raiment when he spent "off-duty" time with Jane or Loki, but he felt undeniably more _himself_ in his armour and cape. 

The effect on the new Loki of seeing him so attired was predictable, but Thor had pretended not to notice, simply calling a farewell to everyone. He had been at pains to conceal the chains and muzzle he carried from the new Loki's sight as he let himself out of the house. 

Now, walking toward the green space that served him as a landing point for the Bifrost, Thor shook off what he told himself were mostly hurt feelings, and concentrated on the most pressing of the problems facing him. 

Chief among these worries, from his personal perspective, was of course the question of, _Where was his brother? How could he be brought home?_ Obviously, this was of legitimate importance, and Thor did not feel guilty for considering it so.

_However--_

So far, Loki's housemates were entirely taken up with personal worry about both Lokis. Again: legitimate, particularly since the new Loki's condition and state of mind called for kindly handling the housemates were uniquely suited and inclined to provide. He hoped his own encouragements turned out to be based in fact, that the household would indeed be a good, healing place for the new Loki. 

And that the new Loki did not repay their kindness by hurting them. 

Catherine's action, in binding the new Loki's will so he could do no harm, had indeed been high-handed, peremptory, and certainly not influenced by any actions of the injured and exhausted fugitive. Thor's protests had been genuine, but--

\-- perhaps not _entirely_ sincere. 

Thor felt rather guilty about that, he could not deny it. And he was deeply grateful Annie, at least, had been too preoccupied to notice any equivocation. Still, the chains he carried were _of Asgardian make,_ as he had told Loki's housemates. And not _just_ Asgardian. More specifically, they bore markings that identified them as having been forged by the Royal Armourer of Asgard. 

In other words, Catherine's suspicions about this new Loki's prior status as a prisoner were probably correct. And, while it was possible the Asgard of his reality was an evil and corrupt empire, and its Loki a rebel in the mold of Luke Skywalker... One still did have to at least consider the reverse.

Asgard as Thor knew it had never been a wholesome atmosphere for _Loki,_ but that did not mean Asgard was _evil._ Really, when one considered the well-meaning failures within the royal family, and the way Loki's own flaws and frailties had magnified them, it was possible to exonerate Asgard nearly altogether as the source of Loki's troubles. If _everyone_ in their family had been able to face up to, and speak up about, the things that distressed them, how many terrible consequences could have been avoided? 

(Agent Coulson occasionally, when the Avengers bickered among themselves, made reference to a television program called _Supernanny,_ which he claimed he would watch to pass the time until the others came to their senses. Thor was still unsure whether Coulson was in earnest, but Jane had helped him find episodes to watch on her computer, that he might understand the jest. He had been painfully transfixed by the image of the competent and kindly mortal woman who helped families better understand themselves and each other.)

His own brother had, as the mortals would say, finally _snapped,_ and terrible damage had resulted. Was it really so hard to believe this other Loki had done something similar? Perhaps worse, or of longer duration, or in a state of mind that resisted any effort to stop him? Or, perhaps, the other Asgard-- the other Odin-- had not even tried? There was no guarantee both Asgards, or families, or Lokis, were exactly the same. Suppose one or all of them were intransigent, crueler than those in Thor's reality, unwilling or unable or simply never put in a position to admit to wrongs or offer reconciliation? 

It took very little effort of imagination to picture what might have happened if that had been the case in his own reality: his brother's heart hardening and his madness escalating, himself and their father stubbornly trying to force Loki back into old ways to suit themselves, anger being met with anger-- 

Well. It was fairly easy to imagine Loki's maddened outburst turning into something more like a career. One that might well have ended in chains. Even the injuries this Loki had sustained might have been the result of a battle rather than abuse. 

Now, even allowing for all that, Thor could not approve of the muzzle, or the state of hunger and thirst this Loki had been allowed to fall into. One did not treat prisoners so, no matter their crimes. Thor found himself able to condemn those details whole-heartedly, without losing sight of the possibility this Loki might _also_ be dangerous. 

And there was something else that bothered him a great deal about the muzzle. As he had told the others, its workmanship looked Midgardian. Again, Loki's friends had been too preoccupied to consider what that might mean, but Thor had not. And, unlike Loki's friends, Thor was rather knowledgeable about the work of armourers, to the extent of frequently being able to recognize the characteristic work of a particular craftsman. This muzzle-- the turns of the steel, the fineness of the joins-- was familiar to him. 

Thor had, over the past two years and more, seen a great deal of the work of Tony Stark, or rather of his assistant JARVIS. He was prepared to wager rather a lot on Tony Stark being the creator of this device, which also affected his views on the matter: he found himself entertaining grave doubts about the possibility of a reality in which _both_ Asgard _and_ Tony Stark were actively villainous. 

There was also the question of who had effected the exchange of Lokis in the first place. His own brother he discounted out of hand: even if Loki had thought there was good reason for such an inexplicable action, he would scarcely have done so without apprising his friends-- _Annie--_ of his intentions. And certainly not while so ill he apparently expressed little interest in doing anything more strenuous than lying on the sofa-- probably, if Thor knew his brother, making a pitiful spectacle of himself in the hope of garnering sympathy (and tea) from Annie. 

There was-- perhaps-- another possible explanation, one related to Loki's illness. It was, Thor supposed, just possible Loki's magic might do unexpected things if he was really ill, and the sickness his housemates had described was certainly unlike anything Thor had ever witnessed in Asgard. 

Still, Thor thought, it beggared belief that something so _specific_ had happened entirely at random. 

On the other hand-- given his situation, it certainly made sense for the second Loki to have _wanted_ to do something like this. Even if he was not a hardened criminal, his condition was dire enough to make anyone consider taking a really selfish action. The stumbling block was that very same condition: it would take a great effort of magic to do whatever had been done. If this Loki had possessed even a fraction of the power needed to make the exchange, surely he would not have permitted himself to get into such a dangerously weak state in the first place? As he was now, surely he had not the strength to do this thing. 

The thing, however, _had been done._ And, while it was possible the sorcerer responsible was in the reality whence his brother had gone, Thor saw little benefit in acting on that assumption. It was _possible_ some well-intentioned-- but insufferably selfish-- sorcerer, having captured an angry, dangerous Loki, had canvassed multiple universes for a friendly and helpful Loki to exchange him for. Even ignoring the obvious point that no one was likely to remain friendly and helpful in the face of _being abducted--_ which surely rendered the action pointless-- Thor had no way of getting at a hypothetical sorcerer in some other reality. 

The opposite possibility, however--

Since coming to spend so much time here on Midgard, Thor had found it useful to adapt in many small ways. Learning to wear human garb in order to remain inconspicuous was one of them. 

Having a small pocket built into his armour, to accommodate a Midgardian communication device, was another. With his present anxiety looming large in his mind, Thor considered it prudent to apprise his human comrades of the situation before he returned to Asgard. As he reached the trees that bordered Victoria Park, he pulled out his mobile phone. 

~oOo~

Really, Tony reflected, Clint was getting entirely too smug for his own good. Not, of course, that it wasn't perfectly justified, since Clint had solved the problem of how to drag Steve Rogers' musical tastes kicking and screaming into the rock era while Tony had failed repeatedly. 

In fact, Tony was disgusted at himself for not figuring it out for himself. As he walked past the Tower's gym, where Steve was honing his already frankly inhuman hand-eye coordination on a specially reinforced speed bag, Tony could hear twangy guitar and a voice singing,

_"We-e-ell that'll be the day when you say goodbye,_  
 _That'll be the day when you make me cry_  
 _You say you're going to leave, you know it's a lie_  
 _'Cause that'll be the day-ay-ay when I die."_

The solution was so obvious Tony felt like smacking himself in his own face: the solution was to begin at the beginning and let Steve progress naturally, at his own _(accelerated, super-soldier)_ pace. The poor guy was adapting as fast as he could to all kinds of alien (in some cases _literally_ alien) concepts and people. Of course he clung to movies and music that were familiar, and preferred to take Buddy Holly-sized baby steps, instead of jumping headlong into AC/DC and Led Zeppelin.

And just at that, the phone in Tony's pocket began to vibrate and play, 

_"We come from the land of the ice and snow_  
 _From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow_  
 _The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands-- "_

"Hey Thor," Tony said, as he activated the face-to-face communication screen to show Thor's worried mug. "What's up? Everything all sorted out with Loki?" 

"I fear not," Thor replied, his deep voice sending a vibration through the speaker unit of even Tony's highest-end device. He then gave Tony an admirably concise summary of the situation in Bristol, which unfortunately left Tony gaping. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he finally said helplessly. And then: "No, never mind, of course you aren't. How in hell does your brother manage to get himself into these situations?"

"It is not his fault," Thor growled, obviously offended. Which of course this time-- and, okay, last time-- and, all right, maybe also the time before that-- it really wasn't. Tony had started making apologetic noises when Thor went on, "I know not why he attracts trouble as he does. It seems to be in his nature to do so-- much as in the case of the orphan girl, Anne, who dwelled in the house called Green Gables."

In spite of the undoubted seriousness of the situation, Tony still had to fake a coughing fit to get his expression under control before he could continue the conversation. Thor, despite his own worry, asked after his health, relating that Loki had in fact apparently had a bad case of the flu at the time of his disappearance. And then he said, 

"Is Agent Coulson with you? I would appreciate it if you could explain matters to him for me." 

"I'll go you one better, big guy," Tony replied, waving as he saw the agent in question exiting the elevator. 

~oOo~

Thor was of course a thousand years old and had experienced a great many "sticky situations," as the humans called them. In the past he had greatly prided himself on his ability to extract himself from them unassisted. 

In more recent times, with the benefit of both hindsight and a little humility, Thor recognized that his ability to "extract himself" had always owed rather a lot to the loyal support of his friends and his brother. There was a time when he might have been offended at the idea of giving such credit where it had always been due, but fortunately that time was in the past. 

As a result, he was now also more able to value his Midgardian friends at their correct worth. Even in his first days on Midgard, Thor had recognized Agent Coulson as a man to be reckoned with among his people. Admittedly, he had still at first thought there was something weak, something slightly shameful, in the human's obvious reliance on guile. It was the way of feeble mortal creatures, not of Asgard. 

Well. _Most of_ Asgard. Thor still felt rather uncomfortable when he remembered his own smug dismissals of, well, _every talent his brother possessed._ He had at least never openly expressed his early condescension to Agent Coulson, and now understood exactly how valuable the even-tempered, ever-reflective agent really was. 

He even successfully suppressed his own feelings of jealousy when he reflected on how the quiet agent had become yet another Midgardian upon whose advice and counsel his brother relied. At the moment, Thor was grateful to be able to rely upon it, himself. 

"And so," he completed his story, "it seems to me the likeliest explanation is that someone from this dimension-- quite probably someone on Midgard-- is responsible for this exchange of Lokis."

"You figure they wanted to trade your brother in on one they liked better?"

"One more useful to them," Thor clarified. Coulson nodded. "I cannot think of a harmless reason for committing such an act." _Which also argues against the overall innocence of the new Loki, even if he is not responsible for the exchange,_ he noted mentally. 

There was no need to voice the thought: Coulson had evidently already come to the same conclusion. 

"Which means it's probably a good thing your friend the witch locked up the other Loki's powers. I'll contact Dr. Strange," Coulson volunteered at once. "He could probably be helpful here." Thor had intended to ask him to do so, the agent having, in a previous adventure, revealed a working relationship with the man known within SHIELD as the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. "You're going back to Asgard?" When Thor confirmed his intentions, Coulson said, "Can you do something for me while you're there?"

"Of course," Thor replied. It was perhaps incautious to make a promise before hearing the request, but Agent Coulson could be trusted. 

"Can you ask your father about that spell he put on Loki?" was Coulson's surprising question. "Not the protective one, the cleansing. Can you ask him _exactly_ what it did to your brother?"

"Certainly," Thor replied, slowly. "You must have a reason for so asking?" 

"I'm just..." Uncharacteristically, Coulson hesitated. "I just... there are a couple of things I've wondered about for a while now. And I'd rather not say anything else until after you speak to your father."

"Very well," Thor agreed. 

"Thank you. I'll get hold of Stephen Strange and fill him in. Then we'll contact Loki's friends and get over to Bristol to see what we can do."

~oOo~

"How sure are you this is going to work?" Rogers asked, glancing away from the monitor that showed the cell, to where Stark sat at work on a computer.

"Not at all, but it should be fun," Stark replied flippantly. 

Rogers compressed his lips and turned toward Barton, who shrugged.

"Personally, I'd rather go straight to getting physical with him, but this isn't a bad idea."

"I'm not comfortable with the idea of _getting physical with him,"_ Rogers said, rather primly. 

"That's what I figured, which is why we're going to try this first," Stark replied. 

"And you have to assume Thor wouldn't approve of it, either," Rogers said. It wasn't quite a question, but his uncertainty was obvious. Stark grinned at him. 

"Come on, Cap-- did _you_ get the impression Thor was _attached?_ Because _I_ sure didn't. You heard him earlier: the only objection he gave Fury was, he didn't think pain would _work."_

"Anyway," Barton raised his voice to draw the attention of the other two, "Loki keeps pretending he has no idea what he did, and asking someone to tell him, right?"

"Right," Rogers agreed. "I can't decide whether he's just faking, or if he wants us to tell him what a mess he-- Oh."

"Yeah," Stark nodded. "Only what we're going to show him is the most advanced section of cleanup. Let him see how little his best efforts mattered to us _ants._ See whether _that_ shakes him up. And then, just to let him know we're listening, we've got another little surprise for him."

~oOo~

There were more guards outside the cake stand. Too wretched for much curiosity, Loki looked on dully as they busied themselves setting up something that looked very much like one of the large televisions Tony Stark kept in his homes. It seemed unlikely they were preparing to show him episodes of Jane Foster's favourite program about wedding dresses, or his own beloved Parliamentary channel.

The doors to the lift opened, and there once again stood Nick Fury. This time, Loki remained where he was, seated folded over on the bench, as the director of SHIELD approached the glass wall of the cake stand. Loki scrubbed his nose surreptitiously on his sleeve, but otherwise only moved his eyes as he watched the human.

"Well, Loki of Asgard," Fury said, in a pleasant tone that made would have made Loki back away, if there had been anywhere for him to go, "I think it's time for a little information exchange. You've been asking us to tell you why you're imprisoned here."

"If you-- if you would," Loki croaked. It took him two efforts to get the words out past his sore throat. Clinging to a shred of dignity-- which was difficult considering the state of his nose-- he coughed shallowly and added, "I believe there are rules which say that you must."

"Whose head did you get that from?" Fury replied, incomprehensibly, before going on, "And actually-- while you'd be correct if you were an ordinary civil prisoner, luckily for me the... _rules..._ that govern cases like yours are a little bit different. In other words, your ass is mine." 

If Fury had been expecting Loki to react to this piece of news, he was doomed to disappointment: partly out of stubbornness and partly out of sheer physical misery, Loki merely blinked at him. If the director felt cheated of a hoped-for reaction he did not show it. Instead, he gestured toward the surveillance camera above him, and a moment later the large television came to life. 

For a moment Loki thought Fury had changed his mind and was indeed showing him a film: what he saw on the screen looked like the last act of the sort of _action movie_ in which superheroes and villains, having battled for supremacy, left a trail of destruction and collateral damage in their wake. Loki was familiar with the concept of _collateral damage,_ having once been the author of a great deal of it in the little New Mexico town where Jane Foster dwelled. And certainly last summer, when New York had come under attack by Hydra and the Dire Wraiths, devastation could not be avoided--

The picture adjusted itself, moved in closer to its subject, and Loki could see heavy machinery moving about in the wreckage. There were workers in hard hats, and an air of businesslike industry. Loki narrowed his eyes and watched with greater concentration, in spite of dizziness and the headache that pounded at his temples. There was no reason for Fury to _really_ show him a film, and besides, _action movies_ did not generally trouble themselves to depict the cleanup afterward. 

These were real images, he realized. Loki spent little time in either New York or London, but he had seen images, on the television, of the destruction in both cities after the events of last August. London had suffered relatively minor damage when attacked by the warplanes controlled by Hydra-- using Loki as a conduit, a thousand years of magic in the city had come to its own rescue. New York, on the other hand, was still engaged in reconstruction some nine months later. 

The images before him now, Loki noted, were not of reconstruction. Not yet. This suggested the destruction had occurred very recently. 

Even confused and ill, Loki was able to understand what this implied. He had just opened his mouth to deny responsibility for any of this ruin when something in the top corner of the picture caught his eye. Sitting abruptly bolt upright, he demanded, 

"What is _that?"_

Something in his tone-- perhaps the note of distress-- caught Fury's attention. With a show of casual unconcern, the man turned to look at the screen. "What is what?"

"There," Loki snapped, awkwardly pointing with his bound hands. "At the top of the screen. The bright colours-- "

Fury looked up, and the picture adjusted itself to focus upon the object of Loki's attention: a tangle of twisted piping painted in primary colours. One did not need Loki's professional background to identify the wreckage of a play structure. Near it was a brick building that had been partially reduced to rubble. 

Without even attempting to control the tremor in his voice, Loki demanded, 

"Is that a _school?"_

Fury's suddenly looked set and rigid. "What's it to you, Loki of Asgard?' he asked, his tone no longer light or amused. Loki scarcely noticed. 

"You obviously blame me for-- for all this. That must be why you are showing it to me. I did not-- I would _never-- "_

This time, the pain his magic sent lancing through his chest felt like a rebuke. As he broke off, wincing, the voice in his head chided,

_You would never, would you? And what of Jotunheim? Do you think they never educate their children?_

"Not anymore," Loki protested. "I would not-- I didn't-- "

"Oh you _didn't,_ did you?" Fury snarled. He might have assumed the tone for effect-- playing the roles of both the good cop and the bad all by himself-- but even as upset as he was himself, Loki did not think so. "You meant to tell your Chitauri army to be _careful,_ did you?"

"That is not-- I did _not,"_ Loki protested, stumbling as he rose to his feet, his voice going high in protest. He coughed again, tasting blood in his mouth.

~oOo~

"What's going on?" Rogers asked, although he really didn't expect the other Avengers, all of whom-- except Banner-- had gathered again to watch the monitor, to have any more answers than he did. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Loki, or Fury?" Stark retorted, his air of brittle amusement sounding more than a little strained. 

"Loki," Rogers snapped. "What's the matter with him? He actually looks like he's upset."

"Surely you did not expect him to abandon his pretense so easily," Thor rebuked. Rogers glanced at him, torn. Surely Thor was right-- who else would know more about Loki's capacity for deceit-- ? 

"Gives him an excuse to harp on the school," Romanov shrugged. "Obviously he's gambling that if he makes a big enough deal about it, he'll rattle Fury enough to do him some good."

"It seems to be working," Rogers muttered. No one answered, but Stark looked a little more strained.

~oOo~

"I brought no army to your realm, and I would _never_ attack a _school,"_ Loki shouted, trying to drown the voice in his head reminding him that he certainly _would,_ and he _had,_ and he probably would _again. "Never,"_ he insisted. He sounded hysterical, and he knew it.

Fury certainly scented weakness, because his own momentary air of distress passed. 

"Sure you wouldn't," he sneered. "You're innocent, you're _deeply concerned_ about what happens to human children, and we _hallucinated_ the whole attack on New York and all the people who died." Expression cool and controlled once again, the human went on, "I'm sure you're just as concerned about _your_ city."

~oOo~

"Okay, Fury's ready to call his bluff," Barton said, and ordered, "Stark, switch to the Bristol footage." 

Stark did something else with the computer. 

"Guys," Rogers said, "do we really think it's smart to push him any harder right now? He looks pretty nearly hysterical already."

"That's kind of the point, Cap," Stark pointed out, tapping at the keyboard. "We keep the full court press on him, push his bullshit story from all the angles, and see if we can get him frustrated enough to lose his temper."

"I know, but-- "

"It's not like he can get out of the cell," Stark concluded, and laughed. "If he gets wound up enough, maybe he'll start banging his head on the glass or something." Rogers glanced at Thor, who looked uncomfortable but not really offended, and then back at the monitor. 

"We can hope," Barton said flatly.

~oOo~

The images on the screen changed. Loki gulped as he recognized the shape of the River Avon snaking toward the harbor. 

"What is this?" he demanded, wishing his voice sounded more commanding, more like a Prince of Asgard.

Fury smirked, and it was no more pleasant to see than Tony Stark's had been. Loki was quite sure Tony Stark had been here, before. 

_Of course he was-- he came to interview the criminal. Do not deny what you are, everyone knows--_

"Everyone knows what?" Fury asked, his eye narrowing. Loki blinked at him, then coughed again, muffling it with his wrist. When he took his hands away from his mouth, there was blood on his sleeve. 

Fury did not ask again what Loki had said-- _he did not care, he already knew everything he needed to, he did not wish to listen to lies and fantasies--_ simply turned back to look at the screen. Loki's wandering attention was jolted back to the present when Fury remarked,

"I guess you have schools in Bristol, too, do you?" 

"Pardon?" Loki croaked, Fury's speculative tone sounding a warning in his head. 

"You've got schools there, right?" Fury repeated. He looked up at the camera over his head, apparently sending a message to whoever controlled the images being delivered to the screen. A moment later, the picture changed again, lost focus as the camera moved in on its target, and then sharpened. 

Loki found himself looking down at a flat-roofed building with a car park in front and, in the back, a green space with tiny figures moving back and forth. He did not need to see the football to know what the children-- they were definitely children-- were doing. 

This was not _his_ school, but it was indeed a school in Bristol-- no matter the reality-- and therefore under his protection. 

The voice in his head fell silent for a moment, and Loki could hear himself ask, 

"Where do these images come from?" His own voice in his ears was sharp, metallic-- a sound almost like the taste of blood. 

"Our missile-guidance satellites have remarkable capacities," Fury replied coolly. 

Loki turned to face him. 

~oOo~

Fury's next line was going to be, "Let's cut the bullshit about you _caring_ what happens to _these_ ants, either, Loki of Asgard."

Before he could utter it, there was a green flash inside the cell. 

~oOo~

Loki seemed a little more relaxed after Thor left, although maybe that was less about Thor and more about Annie. When Mitchell came back from seeing off the witches a short time later, Loki was sitting huddled up at one end of the sofa. His expression registered a sort of dazed softness that probably meant he was exhausted again as he watched Annie sort through their music collection for something to play. 

"I'm just stepping out for a smoke," Mitchell announced. Loki hardly turned his head, and Annie looked up with a smile and a nod. Mitchell withdrew back into the kitchen to join George, and jerked his head at the door to the tiny back garden. 

"Is he all right?" George asked, as they stepped outside. 

"Seems to be," Mitchell replied. "He's in the hands of the Loki-whisperer." George looked puzzled, and Mitchell rolled his eyes. "Annie. He's with Annie. He's fine." He sat down on the step and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After a moment, George sat next to him, shoulders hunched and tense. Mitchell lit up, blowing smoke carefully away from George. 

Eventually he asked, "Speaking of all right, George-- ?"

"I wish she'd connected him to you instead of me," George muttered.

Mitchell snorted a little. "Yes, because the formerly-murderous, tentatively on-the-wagon vampire-- "

"You haven't hurt anyone in-- "

"It's _always_ tentative with me, George," Mitchell pointed out. "Unlike yourself. Which of us has always managed his condition so as not to hurt anyone? Oh right: not me." He smiled encouragingly. "That fact all by itself is reason enough to trust you with this."

"It's almost the full moon, though," George protested quietly. "How's he supposed to cope when he's tied to the wolf?"

Mitchell tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. "She said he could sleep, remember?"

"What?"

"I asked Catherine about it, when she left. He's going to sleep through the whole thing. As long as we tuck him up before the moon rises, he'll be fine." Mitchell considered. "Otherwise I suppose a pillow and blanket will do. Everything is going to be all right, George."

Just at that, Mitchell's mobile buzzed in his pocket, indicating receipt of a text message. The vampire pulled it out and looked at the screen. 

Carefully reached down and crushed out his cigarette, still staring at the screen. 

"Mitchell? What is it?" George finally asked him. 

"Message from an old… friend," Mitchell said finally, still looking at the mobile. He glanced up, expression suddenly wary. "I mean it, George, everything is going to be fine."

You didn't have to be Loki to know he was lying.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Correction to something I previously wrote about Ivan: he became a vampire in about 1815, not the mid-eighteenth century. He is referred to in the series as an Old One. Information about that group of vampires is sketchy, so it makes sense that most of has been passed around by rumour._
> 
>  
> 
> _**Warnings:** This is the chapter in which things start to get really bad for H!Loki, and not just psychologically. There's some **fairly graphic violence**. Also, I had the strangest impression, in **The Avengers** , that Thor was much more of a follower than the first movie led me to believe. That comes out here. Also, we don't check in with A!Loki at all this chapter. I promise we'll get back to him soon._

Ivan was in no especial hurry to rush off to Wyndham and his new playmate to give them the news. He wasn't their errand boy, and be damned-- if he wasn't already-- if he'd act like it. He had told Wyndham to expect Bristol's answer within forty-eight hours, implying the vampires might need time to think the proposal over before calling a second meeting in which they would hold a vote. That was for everyone's safety: he didn't think Wyndham would be pleased to know his grand scheme had been voted down out of hand, and as little as he wanted to be leader, Ivan still felt responsible for the safety of his own black-hearted crew.

Accordingly, after the meeting at the funeral home broke up, he and Daisy went to a little restaurant they knew for a leisurely late supper. From there, they continued down to the dockyards for a rather less-leisurely nightcap, which landed them at home with far more pleasurable thoughts in mind than Wyndham and Doom. 

It was nearly afternoon the next day before Ivan allowed himself to seriously consider his next move. 

"You're going to warn him, aren't you?" Daisy asked in amusement, watching from the bed as he crossed the room to his discarded clothing, looking for his mobile. 

"Of course I am," Ivan said. 

"He wanted out, and he's out," Daisy reminded him, echoing his own words to Wyndham. "He's left us behind-- considering the company he keeps these days, you could even say he's _abandoned_ us. Why would you think he deserves to be warned?"

Ivan located his mobile and fetched his dressing gown from the wardrobe. Daisy made a little face indicating displeasure as he put it on, and Ivan smiled as he came back to sit beside her. Running his fingertips along her spine, he replied,

 _"Considering the company he keeps--_ just think about that for a moment. He's got a housemate powerful enough to set protective charms all around the city, and what _exactly_ has he done with them?"

Daisy stretched in a way she knew he would find distracting before providing the obvious answer. "He's set them around schools and hospitals."

"Right. Which protects the most vulnerable humans, but in the case of the kids, also humans we generally know better than to bother with in the first place." Daisy rolled her eyes-- speaking for herself, a human brat tasted remarkably sweet, and she wasn't put off by the squealing. Still, she knew as well as anyone the pleasure wasn't worth the risk. 

There had been vampires in Bristol since one called Richard Turner came in the seventeenth century. He'd made a place here for himself, first as a slave trader and later as a member of Parliament. He'd been the first vampire to live a double life among the humans of Bristol, going undetected in spite of killing about a thousand of them over the centuries. He had founded both their community, and the protective structure that existed to this day. 

Vampires stayed in the shadows, feeding on those who wouldn't be missed-- at least, not right away. And then not by anyone who mattered, whose voices were easily heard. Kids were a different matter to the sentimental human public. It didn't matter if they came from a class that was mostly ignored, if they went hungry or cold, were neglected by their parents or by a ruling structure that neglected the parents themselves-- let anyone lay a finger on one, and the rest of the humans burst into frightened clucking, vigilant as hens who thought the polecat would snatch their own chick next. 

And the humans who found it _in their best interests_ to look the other way, to cover for the vampires-- attacking children would ensure that protection came to an abrupt end. Everyone knew that, even idiots like Seth.

Hypocrisy, all of it, but vampires were nothing if not pragmatic. As a result children-- all children-- were off-limits. Loki's rhinoceros charm-- which probably worked against any kind of supernatural threat, not just vampires-- had been set at a time when Herrick's ambitions had begun to seriously outpace his common sense. He had apparently attempted to assert control over both Mitchell and his alien pal by threatening a set of brats to whom Loki was inexplicably attached. Under the circumstances, the sorcerer's response was a model of restraint. 

And that, of course, was what Ivan meant.

"He's powerful enough to make things very unpleasant for us, if he'd a mind to, and we know he likes humans. But so far he's left us alone. That's got to be down to Mitchell. If Mitchell really had _abandoned_ us, I think there's every chance we'd be up to our arse in Avengers-- " he grinned and broke off to pat hers as Daisy wriggled it at him-- "and I don't mind telling you, I don't believe the odds would be in our favour. So I think we actually do owe him a little consideration."

"You don't actually think that clown Edgar's thrown in with can _do_ any of the things he says he can?" Daisy asked incredulously. 

"I've no idea," Ivan admitted. "I agree he seems a clown, but he's powerful enough to make a lot of superheroes take him seriously."

"He's lost to them every time," Daisy insisted.

"Every time we _know_ about," Ivan corrected. "But with Wyndham-- and whoever's behind Wyndham, you know none of that lot ever acts on their own-- on his side, there's a good chance he could at least make things a lot livelier than I'm comfortable with. There's no way this stupid plan won't end in disaster for us, if it gets properly underway, and Doom and Edgar Bloody Wyndham won't be the ones left holding the baby. So we discreetly warn Mitchell, and Mitchell passes the word on to Loki and whoever else he thinks he ought to, and with any luck the whole thing goes no farther. 

"We don't even know for certain the Avengers realize they're in league with a vampire, or that there are any more of us. If they don't, the rest of us are best served by keeping things exactly the way they are-- the last thing we need is for a crowd of superheroes to decide they can put up with a single tame vampire who's on their side, but the rest of us have to go. Mitchell's been protecting us, one way or the other, for a while now. A little mutual consideration never goes amiss."

"Fine," Daisy agreed, reached up for Ivan's kiss, and then rolled off the bed to stroll toward the bath. "Send him a message and then come tell me how it went, all right?"

~oOo~

Mitchell handed over his mobile and pretended to watch the smoke from his cigarette while George read the text: 

_Something's up with the Old Ones and Dr Doom. Loki may be a target. We need to talk. Ivan_

Frowning, George handed back the mobile. "Who's it from?"

"Ivan," Mitchell said. 

"Yes, I can read," George replied, waspishly. "You said it was from an old... _friend."_ George reproduced Mitchell's slight hesitation over the word with ruthless accuracy. "But the fact he signed his name means he didn't expect you to recognize his mobile number or have it in your contacts, even though he has _yours._ Which suggests he's not an _old friend_ you've been in contact with recently, but he has other ways of knowing things. He's a vampire, isn't he? And these Old Ones, they're something to do with vampires, too, aren't they?"

Mitchell chuckled uncomfortably, dragging on his cigarette. "Really, George, I had no idea you paid such close attention when we watch _Sherlock._ I feel like Martin Freeman over here." George remained stubborn, fixing Mitchell with the nearest approach to a gimlet stare he could manage with a face like his. 

Mitchell fiddled with the mobile. "All right, then. Yes, he's a vampire. In fact, I reckon he took over here after Herrick-- after Herrick. Which is a good thing for everyone really, he's always been what you'd call pragmatic. And indolent, to be honest."

"Not likely to follow in Herrick's footsteps, you mean?"

"Much too smart to consider it." 

"And who are the Old Ones?" George sounded less severe, now Mitchell had stopped hedging, but that didn't mean he was going to let the subject drop. George was a stubborn bloke when he needed to be. 

And right now he probably did need to be. 

Mitchell leaned forward to stub his cigarette out on the paving stone under his feet, then set the dog end down to cool before he put it in the rubbish. 

"Old vampires. Powerful ones," he began. 

George looked alarmed. "What, like Herrick?"

"No. Much, much stronger." Mitchell's hands fidgeted, like he wished he had the cigarette back, but he didn't light another. "You have to understand, most of what I know-- or think I know-- about them is down to rumour and legend. They're supposed to have all retreated to somewhere in Bolivia, except for a couple who stay on the move and-- there's supposed to be one living in Southend-on-Sea, of all places, but he dropped out of sight years ago." Mitchell chuckled dryly. "I reckon he's even less popular with the power structure than I am."

"So these Old Ones are, what? The vampire government?" George demanded, obviously fighting to keep his voice down.

"Nothing so organized," Mitchell replied. "As I said, they're supposed to be really powerful, but aside from that, I don't know. You hear stories. That they sleep in coffins, travel with a bit of their home soil in their pockets, avoid sunlight-- all that Hammer Films rubbish. I've never heard of them being political, exactly, but... well, back when Herrick was stirring things up, he must have been operating with their approval, otherwise I'm pretty sure somebody would have put a stop to it. 

"Ivan's an Old One, I met him through Herrick years ago. We were-- not exactly friends, really, but we got on all right. Herrick never had much use for him."

"Point in Ivan's favour, that," George remarked. 

"Yeah." 

"And now he wants to talk to you about these Old Ones and Dr. Doom. And Loki."

"Sounds like he might have some answers we need, doesn't it?"

~oOo~

"Our missile-guidance systems have remarkable capacities," said Director Fury. 

Loki turned to face him. The rage that blazed in his veins was passing familiar, anger boiling over nearly into madness, filling him so his heart pounded and his eyes were nearly blinded. 

_Missile-guidance systems._ This _little man,_ this Fury-- he thought he would _threaten?_ He would direct his weaponry at _Bristol,_ at its _children,_ and expect Loki to beg for their safety? _Grovel_ to him, like some helpless captive?

Captive he was, criminal and monster too, exactly as Fury said-- they were familiar, his accusations, and the voice in Loki's head told him they were true, all true, all of them-- 

\-- But he had for nearly a thousand years been a prince of Asgard, and no _mortal_ would make threats of harm against that which was under his protection. Not without punishment being exacted.

The thoughts passing through his mind were scarcely so rational, he was too sick and confused and _angry_ to form them into tidy streams and send them marching through his brain. They were more impressions than thoughts: Loki was conscious first of fear that was swamped by anger, and then of the whirlwind feeling of _power_ surging through him. 

He did not call on his power, it came to him in his anger, all of it, every scrap he possessed or ever would. It burst through its bonds in a cataract, one he vaguely knew would flood through him and leave him drained and powerless once again. This kind of outburst would spend itself in a single flare and leave him with nothing. It was a bargain worth making, despite the pain as it passed through the barrier. That was wrenching, dislocating-- from far away he heard someone scream hoarsely, felt distant agony as if someone else who occupied his body was being torn to shreds.

That was of no importance. He gave it no thought as he moved. 

~oOo~

Even through the monitor, the green flash was blinding. One moment Loki was standing there, looking pasty and sick and afraid, staring at the monitor with an expression of anxiety. 

And then Fury made his crack about missile-guidance systems, taunting Loki, calling him on his bullshit to make him angry. 

It worked. God, it worked: the captive's head snapped up and he drew himself to his full height as he turned, bound hands falling away from his chest and his face twisting into a snarl that turned into a guttural scream as he started forward--

\-- and then the flash came, and when it passed Loki was outside the glass, hands free, the shackles discarded in a heap on the floor of the cell.

He _flowed_ over Fury, caught the director by the throat as he stepped behind him and dragged the man into the open door of the elevator, turning them so no one could get behind him. The guards belatedly started forward, but it was too late: Loki was cornered all right, but with Fury held before him as a human shield none of them were able to take the shot. The Avengers were moving as the elevator doors closed. 

"Holy _shit,"_ Stark was shouting, as he did something to a cuff on his wrist that called his suit to him. "What the fuck did he just-- did you know he could do that? I didn't know he could do that!"

The last words were muffled as the suit appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and assembled itself around him. Nobody answered him. The rest of the Avengers made for the door of the control room, Rogers shouting at Romanov to stand by with Banner-- who had no communicator-- in case they needed him, all of them charging down the corridor toward the cage. Over the communicators they could hear the guards' tense but still professional voices, reporting the attempted escape. It was now more than obvious what all the "sick scared innocent" bullshit was in aid of.

The Avengers arrived on the scene just as Loki and his hostage emerged from the elevator, and from the look on the creature's face he was expecting them. Loki moved sideways, keeping the structure of the elevator at his back and Fury between himself and the Avengers. In person, he looked even worse than he had a couple of hours ago, complexion sallow-- almost gray-- with dark circles under his eyes. There was blood and probably snot running from his nose, and his bared teeth were bloody. He looked deceptively shaky, but the fingers digging into Fury's throat were strong enough. 

"Loki," Thor commanded, his vice rumbling around the open space so the metal bulkheads vibrated, "you will release Director Fury immediately!"

"Listen to your brother, Loki," Rogers urged. 

Wrong thing to say: Loki's head whipped around, eyes dry and blazing. "He is _not-- "_ he broke off, coughing harshly, but the grip of his left hand around the director's throat didn't waver. Fury's head was tilted back and he seemed to be having trouble breathing, but-- unsurprisingly-- he remained calm, his hands down by his sides. It took the Avengers a moment to realize Loki was holding Fury's pistol in his free hand, having apparently lifted it from the director's holster. The gun, at least, wasn't a factor: Loki was holding with his hand around the barrel and trigger guard, the muzzle pointing backward, as if he understood the need to remove the gun from the equation without having any particular idea what to do with it. 

"Release Colonel Fury and surrender to us," Thor shouted. By now, everyone who knew the brothers even slightly knew exactly how much influence Thor had over Loki's actions-- with the possible exception of Thor himself. Loki hacked again, spat out glob of bloody mucus, and replied with a demand of his own:

"You will call away your missiles. _Now."_

"Missiles?" The word seemed to mean nothing to Thor. Of course, he hadn't been pawing around inside the heads of humans recently.

Loki, to no one's surprise, ignored him and addressed the others. "The missiles aimed at Bristol. You thought to _threaten_ me with harm to _my city?"_

Nobody was going to fall for that: cornered, he was obviously trying to distract them until he could think of a way to escape. Rogers, for one, was still trying to come to grips with the realization the bastard could do magic without his scepter-- _thanks for the intel, Thor--_ and wondering what else he might be capable of, but he didn't lose focus. 

And he didn't remind Loki that his original story had involved coming here from some other reality altogether, _not Bristol._

As subtly as he could, Rogers gestured to Stark to be ready-- probably not necessary, but Stark had been considerably shaken by their earlier encounter with the self-proclaimed god, and a little direction might not go amiss right now. Then he stepped forward, conscious of Barton, bow at the ready, behind him and to his right. He kept his shield up, but his other hand stayed down and open. 

"Loki?" The maddened face turned toward him, bloody teeth bared. It was like trying to reason with a rabid dog, but Rogers tried: "There aren't any missiles."

 _"He_ told me of them," Loki snarled. Despite their being nearly the same height, Loki managed to lift Fury almost clear of the ground by his throat and shake him for good measure. The effort provoked another coughing fit-- _Maybe using magic like this was hard on him?--_ as he attempted to say something else. It all came out garbled, Rogers heard something that sounded like _school_ but had no idea what it could possibly mean. 

"He mentioned the _guidance satellites,"_ Rogers reminded the maddened alien, when the coughing fit passed and he seemed able to listen. "Just the satellites. There aren't any missiles pointed at anyone." Well, _that_ was obviously a lie, Rogers had been awake long enough to know that in this day and age there were probably _always_ missiles pointed at _someone,_ but it was true-- so far as it went-- in this situation. 

Loki looked at him. For just a second the crazy ebbed out of his expression and he looked confused and lost. He even made a little sobbing noise, which actually would have been pretty convincing if he'd been able to fake up a few tears to go with it, then glanced around as if calculating his chances if he tried to make a run for it. 

"There's no way out," Barton spoke up, his tone calm and professional. The archer hated Loki more than any of them, but he stayed focused on the mission. "Romanov's gone for Banner. You don't want him to get involved."

Surprisingly, for a guy who'd been personally pulverized by the Hulk, Loki showed little interest in Banner. Looking directly at Barton-- he suddenly looked glassy-eyed, like he was having trouble focusing-- he croaked out, "The missiles. Tell me of the missiles."

"There aren't any," Barton asserted. "Just the satellites."

Loki stared at Barton for a long moment, his expression bewildered. 

Then he moved. 

~oOo~

With the last dregs of available magic draining from him, and most of his strength with it, Loki needed all his concentration to remain on his feet and retain his grip on Director Fury. As the rage passed off he no longer had to fight the urge to _squeeze_ until he felt something break, but he needed Fury as a shield between himself and the Avengers, to hold them off while he made his demands known. 

It felt somehow strange to stand here, his back to the metal wall, facing off the Avengers. There was something _wrong_ about it, to have these familiar faces look at him with such hatred. At the same time, though, he knew the _wrongness_ must be a trick, a lie he told himself, one of his many lies and fantasies, because the voice in his head _(criminal villain monster)_ kept reminding him what he was, what he had done--

He could remember most of it, most of his villainy, but the part where he brought the army to attack Midgard-- he could not remember that, nor the plot that brought him here again. There _must_ be a plot, the Avengers said so, and besides why else would he be here, but he could not _remember_ it. 

_New York._ He recalled the destruction there well enough, explosions and shattered structures and flying ships. The Avengers all around, and human fighters, and-- his own part was confusing to him, the role he had taken unclear. He must have led the invaders? The Avengers said so, and they were not liars-- how else would he be known to them in the first place?-- but he could not _remember--_

He recalled a bolt of magic and Thor falling, himself casting spells, using trickery-- _Mjolnir, something about Mjolnir, no wonder Thor was so angry--_

Suddenly aware he was wandering, Loki glared around, warning the Avengers back, ensuring they could see he still paid attention to their movements. Thor's stern face swam to the fore, and Loki was aware of desolation mingled with his confusion, a curious sense of loss that could not be explained, since surely Thor's face was always stern and disapproving-- ?

For a moment something flickered through his mind, as if he remembered Thor smiling. Thor often smiled, of course, but he thought he could see Thor's _whole_ face, as if it had turned toward him, as if Loki remembered Thor smiling at _him,_ rather than himself watching as Thor smiled at someone else--

 _Missiles._ With an effort, Loki dragged his attention back to the missiles, to the threats Fury had made. Was it Fury who had made them? He thought so, but the idea made little sense, since Fury was not the criminal _(monster)--_

Barton was speaking. Loki forced himself to pay attention. The archer was assuring him there were no missiles. Surprisingly, with everything else so unsteady in his mind, Loki found himself persuaded the man spoke truth, sensing no falsehoods. Well, Barton was not the Liesmith, was he? 

Barton said there were no missiles.

He could not remember what it was about missiles that had concerned him so. 

He was surrounded, captured by the heroes. He could not remember what he had done, what he wanted, how they had all come to be here. There was something heavy in his hand, and he dropped it. Then he let go of Fury's throat _(why was he attacking Colonel Fury?)_ and pushed the man away. 

There was a flash, a blazing pain in his shoulder and heat blooming through his chest. 

Everything went black. 

~oOo~

Loki dropping the gun and letting Fury go was unexpected, but the second the director got clear Barton and Stark acted as if they'd planned for it, acted perfectly as a team. Barton loosed an arrow that penetrated not only Loki's shoulder but the bulkhead behind him, pinning the alien in place as Stark fired his repulsors. It wasn't one of Thor's lightning strikes but it did the job: Loki's whole body convulsed, head hitting the bulkhead behind him with a satisfactory thump, and his eyes rolled back. 

The arrow tore loose from the wall as Loki crumpled, and Fury turned as the alien hit the ground, venting his feelings in an ignoble but very understandable kick to the side of the creature's head. Rogers didn't want to intervene but had stepped forward to do so anyway when Fury backed off, a hand rising to his bruised throat. A second later the director had himself back under control. 

"Get that thing back into the cell," he ordered, voice cracking on the first words. Then his voice smoothed out as he regained control of himself: "Take him back to the cell." He looked at the arrow, appeared to fight a short battle with himself, and added, "And somebody get a medic. Although if he wakes up and poses any danger to medical personnel, fuck him."

"What's the point of putting him in the cell if he can just _let himself back out again?"_ Stark demanded, mask retracting as he turned on Thor. "I thought those shackles were supposed to suppress his powers!"

"And we should have been told he was capable of a move like that in the first place," Rogers added. And then he was a little unfair himself, as he vented his own feelings: "You were supposed to _brief us_ on his abilities." Thor's expression went mutinous, but to his credit he didn't try to defend himself. 

Stark turned to Barton. "You could have saved us a hell of a lot of trouble if you'd just put that arrow through his eye like you wanted to."

"Agreed," Barton said flatly, "but we still need to get information from him." He leaned over the unconscious alien, grasped the shaft, pulled the bloodied arrow out of the wound and tossed it aside. "Now what do we do with him?"

Thor looked conflicted for about a second, maybe weighing his loyalties, before he spoke up. "There is one other method of confining a sorcerer's magic. It is uncommon but extremely powerful, and I know of no case in which any has overcome it."

"Great," Stark snapped. _"Now_ you tell us. What is it?"

Given his hesitation a moment ago Rogers almost expected him to balk again, but Thor answered immediately: "The binding magic is in the runes inscribed on the shackles. If they are marked on the sorcerer himself, in a specific pattern, their power is greatly strengthened."

"And how are they marked?" Rogers demanded, before Stark could, because he was pretty sure Stark would add some editorial remarks that wouldn't be helpful. Stark took the opportunity to breathe deeply, obviously trying to calm himself. Thor didn't appear to care for Rogers' curt tone, but now Rogers was gambling that he liked being on the outs with the gang even less.

He guessed correctly: this time Thor didn't falter over the answer:

"They are generally applied with a brand, or carved deeply enough for the scar to be permanent."

 _Oh._ Rogers didn't let himself look down at the prisoner at his feet. He waited for Barton or Stark to point out that Loki was extremely dangerous and also not human, but neither of them did. 

"Are those the only options?" Fury asked, his face giving away nothing.

Thor shrugged, with an air of handing over responsibility. "For a permanent effect, yes. Although if the jailers are vigilant, they may simply be re-applied as they begin to fade."

"How fast can we get a tattoo artist here?" Stark wondered out loud.

"Tattoo artist, hell," Fury replied. "They just have to last until we get what we need out of him, and then he's Asgard's problem again. Somebody get me a damned Sharpie." He paused. "And that medic."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _How much harm can you do with a Sharpie? Also, I've long suspected many of us relate to Loki's loneliness and feelings of isolation. In this chapter, A!Loki encounters the medication that got me through a lot of those feelings during my now-distant adolescence. Forgive me for possibly overstating its effectiveness. Although-- that's probably not possible. _
> 
>   _**Warnings:** More H!Loki whump. Sorry, baby. And sorry to readers who are finding this thread upsetting. By the standards of this universe, this chapter is pretty bad. Also for mild (PG) language._
> 
> _Speaking of my adolescent "medication," one specific bit of this chapter was not written by me. You'll recognize it when we get there._

Either the medic had somehow managed to miss out on the entire invasion, or he was the coolest customer this side of Phil Coulson-- and Stark immediately wished he hadn't thought of _that._

Regardless, when the medic, Dunlap, entered the cell he seemed entirely unconcerned by the identity of his patient. He looked down at the unconscious prisoner lying on the floor and simply remarked, 

"You shouldn't have removed the arrow until I got here."

"Thought I might need it again," Barton replied flatly. "How about you just patch him up so we can get on with what we need to do?" 

Dunlap shot the agent a glance that under other circumstances could easily have gotten him killed, then set down his kit and dropped to one knee beside Loki. "Okay, I'm going to need some help here. I've got to get that coat or whatever it is off him." 

"Stark, cover us," Rogers ordered, stepping forward to help. Stark would have suggested he go fuck himself, except of course by "cover us," Rogers meant "stand by, in case Loki wakes up and we need you to blast him again," and he wasn't going to miss out on _that._ He would have much preferred the chance to throw the bastard out a window-- turn about being fair play, after all-- but he'd take what he could get. 

Thor had to step in for a minute and help Dunlap and Rogers figure out the fastenings on Loki's ridiculous overcoat-- seriously, how advanced could Asgard be if they hadn't even invented the _zipper_ yet?-- and then manhandle the would-be conqueror out of it. Minus the heavy, broad-shouldered coat and under-tunic, he wasn't exactly an impressive physical specimen-- seriously, how could anyone have thought this skinny loser was really _Thor's_ brother? 

He'd healed up pretty well from the pounding he'd taken from the Hulk, at least, except for a necklace of fingerprint-shaped bruises around his throat. Stark briefly wondered about those-- they sure weren't big enough to be the Hulk's. Besides, if the Hulk had grabbed Loki by his scrawny neck that probably would have been the end of all their problems right there, instead of just the immediate one. 

Dunlap gloved up and carefully examined the bloody hole just below Loki's prominent left collarbone, then had Rogers roll the prisoner onto his side so he could see the matching hole in his back. "Colonel, this is a pretty serious wound. I'm going to have to-- "

"You're going to slap a battle dressing on him and get out of our way," Fury ordered. The medic looked up, frowning. 

"With respect, sir-- "

"Just do it," Fury snapped. 

The medic set his jaw a little. "All right, I'll just clean around it and-- "

"The dressing. Now," Fury growled. Dunlap flushed, then silently began digging in his kit to find the dressing and adhesive. 

At some point in the proceedings, Loki woke up. 

Stark didn't notice it until his glance happened to track past the prisoner's face and he realized the eyes were open. They looked a little glazed, like he wasn't focusing yet, and he didn't move. Regardless, Stark figured there was no reason to take any chances.

"He's awake," Stark warned. "Just step back for a minute and I'll-- "

Rogers shifted like he was about to automatically get to his feet, but Dunlap just glanced at the prisoner's face and shrugged. "He's fine." Apparently addressing Loki, he added, "You're okay. I'll be done here in a minute." Loki blinked, looked sluggishly toward the medic for a moment, and then let his eyelids drift shut. It appeared for a moment that he'd lost consciousness again, but when Dunlap applied the second dressing to the wound on his back he tensed up, jaw clenching. 

As for Dunlap, you had to either give him credit for stubbornness or pity him as an idiot, because as he was bagging the wrapper from the dressing he told Fury, "I know you didn't want any sharps around this guy, sir, but I really think I should start an IV and-- "

"No," Fury cut him off. "You've done all we need you to."

Rogers looked uncomfortable, glanced at the silent Thor-- who after all probably had no idea what an _IV_ even _was--_ and finally spit out, "Why an IV?"

"Hydration," Dunlap explained, looking at Cap as if he was stupid. "Surely you guys noticed he's running a fever? And that he looks sick as hell?"

"That's what he always looks like," Barton, standing by at the door, replied. "He's a pasty guy-- he looked the same way when he came through the portal in the first place." Barton didn't have the most expressive face to begin with, but as he finished his little speech he closed down entirely.

"It's true. Tell him, Thor," Stark urged. Thor, who seemed to be paying attention to pretty much everything _except_ his asshole adopted brother, fidgeted a little but said nothing. Before Stark could give that any thought, another guard appeared in the cell doorway.

"Sir? Those things you requested," he addressed Fury, and held out a bundle of clothing, electric clippers, and a black marker.

Fury nodded to Barton, who took the gear, and turned back to Dunlap. "I appreciate your professionalism, but we don't need anything further from you. This guy took a pounding from the Hulk and walked away from it. Whatever's going on with him right now, I doubt it's very serious. You're dismissed." Dunlap, unbelievably, still looked inclined to argue, until Fury repeated, more loudly, _"Dismissed."_

Finally realizing he was getting nowhere, the medic silently packed up his kit. Barton gestured to the guards outside to open the cell door. Shoulders angular with tension, Dunlap marched out of the cell to the elevator. The door hissed shut behind him, and the Avengers turned back to the problem at hand.

They had already discussed their next step while they were waiting for Dunlap to arrive, and had decided Rogers, with his artist's eye, was the best guy to copy the runes from the shackles onto Loki's skin. Rogers looked understandably worried about that-- suppose he screwed them up and the spell didn't work?-- but he'd studied them carefully and no one else was concerned. 

Thor knelt down beside his adopted brother and pinned Loki's right hand flat to the floor, palm up and fingers held open. Loki opened his eyes again, muzzy and confused and deceptively defenseless-looking, and slowly turned his head just as Steve started to draw on his palm with the black Sharpie. Loki tried to flex his hand, frowning in confusion.

"What are you-- ?" he asked hoarsely, then broke off with a shallow cough. Rogers naturally ignored him. A moment later, Loki tried to lift up so he could roll himself toward the two Avengers and see for himself. Instead he yelped, eyes going wide and painfully startled as he let himself fall back. He tugged feebly at his trapped hand, obviously reluctant to move in a way that jolted his injured shoulder but also either curious or apprehensive about what Rogers and Thor were doing. "Thor? What are-- ?"

Thor and Rogers ignored the question, although bright spots of colour had risen over Rogers' cheekbones. A moment later, Thor released Loki. He and Rogers stepped across the prisoner to pin his other hand down and inscribe the rune a second time.

Loki blinked up at them, puzzled and maybe beginning to remember the situation he was in. After a moment he lifted his right hand to see what they had done to it. The rune stood out sharp and black against his pale skin.

It was almost funny, really, to see the look on his face change from mild puzzlement to dawning comprehension and then, gradually, fear. He looked at his hand, mouth working as if he was trying to say something but had forgotten how. When he finally did speak his voice was wobbly, like a scared little kid.

"Thor?" It occurred to Stark to wonder whether Thor remembered that tone from a long time ago, back when his adopted brother was just a skinny pain in the ass, instead of a skinny psychotic would-be conquerer of worlds. "Brother?"

Considering the kind of memories involved, it was maybe not surprising Thor pretended not to hear him. Loki persisted.

"Thor, Steve-- Captain-- please-- " Loki's face twisted in pain as he tried to pull his hand free. "Please don't-- "

Rogers, meanwhile, had gone even paler and his face was set, but give him credit: he didn't lose concentration, and his hands were perfectly steady as he completed the second rune. 

The third rune, according to Thor, was supposed to be inscribed over the heart. By this time there was no trouble deciding where to place it, not the way Loki's heart was visibly hammering right under the skin. The main difficulty by now was in holding him still so that Rogers could draw the marking properly: even the presumable pain in his injured shoulder wasn't enough to keep him from thrashing around in what appeared to be rising panic. 

Barton finally stepped in to help Thor hold his adopted brother down, but Rogers still had to more or less kneel on Loki's upper legs, then shift more toward the knees so he could unfasten the stupid leather trousers and mark the next rune just below the prisoner's navel. Despite Loki's struggles the heavy black lines came out nice and even and unsmudged. Apparently Cap was tougher than Stark had originally given him credit for, or else he was really worried about what would happen if the runes weren't drawn properly.

By the time Rogers finished the fourth rune, Loki wasn't pleading with them anymore. He was coughing too hard to speak clearly, as well as making inarticulate panicky noises that should have been a lot more entertaining than they were. Even considering who he was and what he'd done, Stark was finding it just wasn't a whole lot of fun to watch this.

The weird thing was the way he didn't even try to use magic against them. Either he was still too foggy to control it, or he'd used up all he had when he attacked Fury-- which seemed like the kind of lesson he should have learned a long time ago, but whatever. Regardless, it was more than evident he knew what the runes were meant to do, which pretty much confirmed, if they'd needed further convincing, that his "you've got the wrong Loki" story was bullshit.

The final rune was supposed to be inscribed on the back of the skull, which was what they needed the clippers for. Between the two of them, Rogers and Thor pinned Loki's arms, then trapped his head against Thor's shoulder in a parody of an affectionate embrace. Barton started to switch on the clippers, then paused. 

"I could just do a stripe up the back of his head," he offered. "That's all we need, and it'd be sort of funny."

"Knock it off, Barton," Rogers snapped, finally letting on that the whole miserable mess was getting to him. "This is bad enough already without _taunting_ him. Just hurry up and do it."

Barton shrugged, and stepped forward. A moment later there were long strands of black hair drifting around the cell, and just for a second Stark thought there was something he should remember about that long black hair. When there was nothing on Loki's head but some random black fuzz, Barton set aside the clippers and picked up the black marker. With careful precision--and no small amount of poetic justice-- he drew the final rune on the back of Loki's skull. 

The sorcerer went limp in Thor and Rogers' hands. Rogers jerked his head in command, and Thor let go and moved away. 

Rogers was just lowering the prisoner to the floor when Loki seized up, muscles rigid and twitching as his limbs jerked helplessly. His eyes were wide-open, although it was hard to tell whether he could see anything, and their pale greyish-green colour made it easy to see his pupils blow, taking over the iris until the eyes looked almost entirely black. Loki really had appeared kind of possessed during parts of his attack on New York, but this was frankly _Exorcist_ shit.

"What the _fuck."_ For once, even Fury sounded taken aback. "Thor, what the hell is this?"

"I-- I know not," Thor replied. He sounded genuinely gobsmacked, which was not one bit reassuring. "I have not seen this punishment enacted before, but I have never heard of-- "

Thor might have had more to say, but Loki, his head bending backward painfully as his spine arched, let out a terrible, guttural combination of a scream and a moan that echoed off the glass walls and drowned all other sound. Everyone scrambled backward as the spasm passed and Loki dropped to the floor, then arched upward again with another scream. 

The runes had started to glow. As the Avengers watched, crimson light spilled from them, enveloping the screaming, convulsing prisoner. Loki had, of course, long since lost the sterile dressings, so they had a clear view as the light blasted out of the wounds in his shoulder, just as it came pouring out of his now-bleeding mouth and nose. The red light wrapped itself around Loki, enveloping him, and it was just possible to see feeble green flickers in his fingertips and eyes before the red engulfed it. A second later Loki's spine bent backwards so hard they all expected to hear the snap as it shattered. 

Stark had, obviously, never actually seen anyone die of strychnine poisoning, but he'd read about it, and what he'd read looked pretty much exactly like this. Alien war criminal or not, it was pretty damned disturbing even without the magical red light that made him think of _Raiders Of the Lost Ark._ Even Thor, who you have to figure had _seen some things_ in his long life, looked disturbed.

The seizures continued for about ten minutes, their intensity eventually decreasing as the screams ebbed to exhausted-sounding moans. Loki's eyes were open but glassy, and it was impossible to tell how aware he was of what was going on. Stark found himself hoping the answer was _not very._

Finally, just when Stark really thought he was going to have to demand to be let out of the cell, Loki jerked one final time. His pupils contracted a little, so he just looked like he was in shock, then his eyes closed as he went limp. Rogers moved to kneel by his side and make sure he was breathing and had a pulse. 

"Well?" Fury asked, voice remarkably steady in spite of the circumstances. 

Rogers cleared his throat. "He's alive."

Fury took a deep breath and let it out, which was about as much stress as any of them had ever seen him show. When he spoke, though, he was in control of himself. "All right. Get him out of those clothes and into the sweats." The idea of putting Loki in human clothing had originally been about making him feel vulnerable and off-balance, but considering the amount of his own blood he'd just been rolling around in, Stark thought it had probably turned into more of a kindness than anything else. 

He didn't voice the thought, in case someone thought it was an objection. 

Rogers nodded, then looked around the glass box. "Request permission to move him to a different cell." Before Fury could object, Rogers added, "If his magic still isn't disabled, we don't have anything that'll hold him anyway, and I'd rather not leave him in-- " He made a gesture that combined distress and disgust as it encompassed the grisly mess around them. 

Fury thought about it for a second, then jerked his head in acquiescence and spoke into his communicator. "Simmons, we're moving the prisoner to level three. Have a cell made ready." He paused, looking down at the prisoner. "And tell Dunlap to report there." 

~oOo~

Ridiculous as it might be, Loki found himself relaxing a little as he sat with Annie, listening to the recordings of Midgardian music. He had never paid very much attention to music before this, and he remained largely unmoved even now, but it was pleasant indeed to sit and listen with the little cats curled in his lap, Annie at the other end of the sofa, the black dog resting against her leg.

It was more than merely _pleasant,_ Loki acknowledged. It was _peaceful._ He really could not recall the last time he had felt _peaceful._

He was so far moved to stroke the glossy black-and-white fur of the two little cats, both of whom sniffed at his hands and mewed discontentedly before huddling back into one another. Glancing up, he just caught an expression cross Annie's face that reminded him she did not feel _peaceful_ at all. 

"They miss him, do they not?" He spoke before he could lose courage, and he was not really concerned with the feelings of the little cats. Annie looked his way, her face now registering guilt and concern. He made himself persist, "The other Loki." There was a strange pain in his chest as he clarified, "The one who _belongs_ here. They miss him." He hesitated again, and then added, "As do you. You are afraid for him."

 _And well she might be,_ he admitted to himself. If, as seemed likely, the other Loki was now in his own Asgard, he would be contending with an Allfather who had realized his captive Jotun was useless after all. With a Thor whose present anger only enlarged upon his overall contempt for the shadow at his heel. 

It was highly unlikely the other Thor would now be offering to make meals for the lost Loki, or reassuring him as to everyone's intentions. There would be no little comforts, or anyone to hear his story and try to help him. 

He assuredly did not want to change places with that other Loki, and in truth felt only limited sympathy for him, but he found himself regretting the anxiety Annie was feeling. 

Feeling, but unwilling to discuss with him.

"We'll get him back," was all she said, with determined brightness. It was the first time he had sensed any falsehood in her words. Before Loki could say anything else, even if he had known what, the music stopped and Annie rose to her feet. "I'll just change that disc."

Loki waited, discomfort rising within him, as she walked across the room to the book case. He experienced another little spasm of pain at her expression as she picked up one of the square cases that held a _disc._ It was obvious there was a connection to the other Loki, and he nearly asked her to look for something else. 

He hesitated a moment too long, and then the music began, a melodic percussive sound that Annie had already informed him was called a _piano,_ accompanied by a soft wailing instrument he had never heard before. It was oddly arresting, and Loki was already listening closely when the tempo increased brightly and a rough but warm-sounding voice sang, 

_"The screen door slams, Mary's dress waves--_  
 _Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays_  
 _Roy Orbison singing for the lonely_  
 _Hey that's me and I want you only_  
 _Don't turn me home again_  
 _I just can't face myself alone again- "_

A number of the words were unfamiliar to Loki, but it scarcely seemed to matter when the meaning was so clear to him. He leaned forward, his attention fully engaged. The sound was a peculiar commingling of loneliness and resolution, as of choices to be made. None of these choices would have resembled the ones he had made, but yet something in its sound spoke to him. Annie, as she turned to rejoin him on the sofa, smiled slightly at the look on his face. 

Before she could speak, there was the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, and then Mitchell and George came rustling through the beaded curtain. Their expressions were enough to distract Loki from the music. 

"What is it?" Annie asked, also alert to their expressions. George crossed the room to lower the volume of the music, then seated himself on the second sofa while Mitchell took the big chair Thor had sat in earlier. 

"I just heard from an old friend of mine," Mitchell explained, obviously uncomfortable. "Bloke named Ivan. Haven't spoken to him in years."

"Yes?" Annie prompted, looking from him to George. Loki, with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, realized neither of the men was looking at him. Annie glanced at him in an obvious effort at reassurance, then turned back to her friends. "Boys?"

"He wants to talk to me," Mitchell said, glanced at George-- who was making a very peculiar face he apparently believed to be subtle-- and then reluctantly explained, "Something to do with Loki."

"Which Loki?" Annie asked. 

"Ours, presumably," Mitchell snapped, and then softened. "I'm sorry. I don’t want to make things worse. Yes, George, I know: _Jehovah, Jehovah--_ Ivan said something about Loki being a target."

"A _target?_ Of _who?"_ Annie demanded, glancing at Loki. The little cats hopped from his lap and crawled under the sofa as he straightened, tense and beginning to be angry. 

"Yes, Mitchell," he said, his tone silky and with a dangerous note underneath, "tell us about it."

Mitchell sighed, although he gave no sign of being intimidated by Loki's demeanour. "It's complicated. No, no, I'm going to explain, and I'm sorry we didn't do it earlier. It just seemed like you had enough to cope with, without this."

"Be that as it may," Loki murmured, "it now appears you were mistaken."

Mitchell smiled ruefully. "Yes, well, stick around. It happens pretty often. The first thing you need to know, and you may have figured it out already, is that none of us is an ordinary human." Loki inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. Mitchell went on, "Annie's a, a spirit." Loki kept his face very still as he absorbed this piece of intelligence, but Mitchell still cast a sympathetic look at him as he went on, "George is a kind of shapeshifter called a werewolf, and I'm a vampire. I don't know if you're familiar with the term?" Loki shook his head stiffly, and Mitchell explained, in an even and controlled voice, "I was originally human-- all of us were human, before-- but some years ago I was... infected. I'm-- well, I'm no longer alive, actually. Vampires are supernatural creatures. Most of us drink the blood of humans. I don't, not anymore," Mitchell added hastily, as though Loki might be concerned about that.

"And what has this to do with _targets?"_ Loki asked, and was rather pleased his voice did not tremble. 

"I don't know," Mitchell admitted. "Maybe nothing. I just thought you should have the whole story, as long as you're apparently in the middle of it. Ivan is also a vampire, and he thinks a group of very powerful vampires, along with a human sorcerer who's caused trouble here on, on Midgard before now, might have an interest in Loki."

"What are you going to do?" Annie asked, glancing at Loki in concern, as if she thought he might be worried. _Fearful._

It should have been insulting. 

"George and I are going to go along and talk to Ivan," Mitchell replied. "We'll find out what he knows. Loki," he added urgently, "I don't think you should come with us. Not this time."

"Indeed?" Loki said harshly. Mitchell, and George too, winced. "And what reason have you for such a decision?"

"It's more of a suggestion," George murmured. "You're still not, not well, and vampires are _very_ good at sensing weakness. We don't even know whether we can trust Ivan."

"We thought, I'd go to talk, and George would go as my second, and we'll see what he has to say for himself," Mitchell explained. "Then we'll all talk it over and decide what to do next. What do you say?"

Loki considered. George was correct, he was still damnably weak. If this Ivan had a mind to betray them, perhaps displaying himself at this time would only play into his hands. 

If _Ivan_ was the one bent on betrayal.

"And suppose this Ivan wishes to... suggest some sort of arrangement," Loki asked stiffly. 

Mitchell frowned. "What sort of an arrangement?"

"Suppose he should guarantee your safety, that of your household, in return for what he wants," Loki spat. "You would of course never consider handing over your friend, but suppose there was-- conveniently-- a substitute to hand--- "

Mitchell was already shaking his head, and George uttering the strange squeaking noises with which he expressed distress. Annie leaned over and took Loki's hand-- hers was still cold, but he could feel it perfectly plainly. 

"No, Loki," she said firmly. "That's a very brave offer, but not in the shape you're in."

"Yeah," George agreed. "We all know Ivan might be planning some kind of double-cross, but it would be much too dangerous for you to try to take him on by yourself. Mitchell and I will go talk to him and see if we can work out how much trouble we're all in, and then we'll all decide what to do together. Okay?"

"Very well," Loki replied faintly. Mitchell smiled at him, a knowing little smile, and made agreeable noises. 

Shortly after this Annie decided a cup of tea would be appropriate, and George accompanied her into the kitchen to offer his assistance. Mitchell and Loki were left together in the lounge.

After a moment, the... the _vampire_... sat forward in his chair. "That _was_ a very brave offer of yours," he said, and there was a sparkle of amusement in his voice. 

Loki inclined his head stiffly. "As you say."

Mitchell softened. "Sorry, I shouldn't make fun. I wasn't, really. And neither were they, but I think you probably know that."

"It is difficult to believe they really thought I was offering to _sacrifice myself_ in such a fashion," Loki pointed out.

"Well, it would never cross Annie or George's mind to think you believed they'd sell you out like that," Mitchell explained, still looking slightly amused. "And the reason they'd never expect _you_ to think that is, it would never cross _their_ minds in a million years. Even if that's what Ivan wants."

Loki looked down at his clenched hands. "They seem to forget, I am not the Loki they care for."

"They wouldn't do it to anyone," Mitchell assured him. "Although come to think of it, it really would be just like our Loki to offer to act as a decoy. Bit reckless sometimes."

Loki shuddered. Mitchell's gaze sharpened and he probably would have had questions, but Loki said hastily, "And yourself?"

"Oh, I'd never hand you over to Ivan either. I don't have friends enough to waste," Mitchell replied lightly. More seriously, he added, "I don't have any real reason to believe Ivan plans to double-cross us, but if he does, we'll deal with it in a way that at least tries to keep us all safe. Okay?"

Loki chewed his lip, then echoed Mitchell's word back to him. "Okay."

~oOo~

"So you actually think it's possible?" Coulson asked, handing a cup of coffee from the galley to his traveling companion and then seating himself and re-fastening his lap belt. "This whole business of parallel universes?"

Dr. Stephen Strange smiled, thinly but not unpleasantly, as he accepted the steaming cup. "I hardly think that is even a question, Philip. Having finally recognized that humans are not alone in the universe, is it really so hard to also accept that the _universe_ is nothing of the sort?"

"In fact, a multiverse," Coulson murmured, and Strange's smile broadened. 

"As Terry Pratchett put it," he murmured. 

"Speaking of _possible,_ how about pulling our Loki back without sending the other Loki to replace him? Do you think that can be done? Thor was pretty adamant they weren't giving back the Loki they've got now."

Strange studied the inky contents of his cup, as though he could see the future in the blackness. "Without making promises I might after all be unable to keep-- I see no immediate reason to believe that will be a serious problem. I will after all have assistance from what I understand to be two skilled witches, and there is a powerful magical site near to hand as well. It may be necessary to send someone to retrieve Loki, rather than simply pulling him back, but-- "

"I can do that," Coulson said, so promptly that Strange turned to look at him. Coulson shrugged. "If it turns out to be a job for a sneak, I'm the obvious candidate."

"That is true," Strange said, with a penetrating but not unkind glance, "but I think there is another reason you are so quick to volunteer." 

Coulson's face turned wooden. "He's our magical consultant," he reminded Strange. "That makes him one of my guys."

"It does indeed," Strange agreed, in a tone that made it very clear he still believed there was something more. 

Coulson gave in. "I can't explain it," he admitted, "because I don't completely understand it myself. But-- you're right, I'm pretty sure there's something else going on with our Loki, something I hope Thor can clear up for us. Not that it changes anything about the immediate problem."

Strange nodded. "And that, as the saying goes, is where I come in."

"Exactly," said Agent Coulson.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Sorry for the delay, and the relative lack of Loki in this chapter. 
> 
> Regarding H!Asgard-- I've mentioned that I try to avoid making any character all-powerful, simply I find that less interesting to write. I've done the same with Asgard-- to the detriment of canon, I'm sure, but it works within this universe.
> 
> Also, we haven’t really had occasion, in this series, to address Frigga's magical abilities. We know Odin can lay spells on objects and people, but owing to the minor role Asgard plays in this series, there's been little occasion to see Frigga work magic. She's not about to go all Galadriel on anyone just yet. Although I confess, it's beginning to be a tempting idea. 
> 
> Readers who know **Being Human** canon will be aware that Daisy is being quite restrained-- she's one of the more reckless characters on the show, but this story is complicated enough already. I think. 
> 
> I do apologize for the fact it's taking forever to launch a rescue, but in story-time the switch happened less than twenty-four hours ago. 
> 
> Also, I quite frequently mess with facts for the sake of a story, but the point of natural history that comes up in this chapter is one hundred percent accurate.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Continued whump of various kinds. Also, memory is subject to influence and emotion, and it's not just Loki who's prone to remembering "with advantages." Or disadvantages, as the case may be.

Having arrived back in Asgard without advance notice, there was no one to greet Thor and no horse awaiting him. This was hardly unusual-- since he had begun to spend so much time on Midgard, Thor's comings and goings were often irregular. When this happened he would simply walk from Heimdall's Observatory across the bridge to the palace. Ordinarily he found the walk quite pleasant, but today he was in rather a hurry. Indeed, he would have passed along with only a quick word to Heimdall, but the guardian called to him.

"Your mother, the queen, is in the library and has expressed the wish to speak to you."

"The _library?"_ Thor repeated, rather foolishly. Obviously his mother used the library. There was no reason for surprise, except that it seemed an odd place for her to, as he assumed, fret over his brother's disappearance. Still-- "Very well, I will look for her there as soon as I have finished my business with the Allfather."

"You should perhaps speak to your mother first," Heimdall suggested. "The Allfather is meeting with King Njord of Vanaheim, and will be able to give you his full attention afterward."

"Thank you, Heimdall," said Thor. He passed out of the Observatory, nodded greetings to the two guards who kept station on the bridge, then whirled Mjolnir in his hand and flew across the bridge to the palace.

When he entered the library, one of the librarian's most junior assistants immediately bowed Thor toward the main reading room at the far end of the space. For most of his life Thor had not been an avid user of the library, but he did like this room, with its tall windows, comfortable chairs, and the half-landing that overlooked the rest of the chamber. It was quiet and welcoming and thoughtful.

When Loki had been... lost... Thor used to come here, to sit and remember and wish with all his heart for another chance.

In the back corner of the reading room was a round table, bathed in light from the angled bank of windows. The oaken surface of the table was piled high with books. Sitting together, a shining black head bent near a gleaming golden one, were Sif and Frigga. 

"Pardon me, Thor," came a familiar-sounding voice, and Fandral sidled past him with an armload of books, on his way to the table. Thor followed, to be greeted with a smile by his tired-looking mother and friend.

"What are you doing, Mother?" he asked as he moved toward the table. "Hello, Sif," he added, and nodded to Fandral. "You are all very busy?" His voice betrayed his confusion.

"That we are," Fandral replied cheerfully. 

Sif rose. "And indeed, there are other books for us to find, are there not, Fandral?" 

"I so appreciate your help," Frigga said warmly. 

Fandral bowed to the queen. "I am at your service." Sif gave him a quick little push and Thor's two friends hurried off into the shelves.

"They are not subtle," Thor noted. 

"But good friends," Frigga replied, and Thor nodded. Frigga patted the chair Sif had just vacated, and Thor joined her at the table. 

"What are you reading?" he asked, reaching out to turn one of the stacks of books so that he might read their spines. Most of them, he found, were grimoires of such an age that no such markings remained. 

The ones whose titles could be discerned were books of magic. 

"Ah," said Thor, sitting back and looking at his mother. 

"I am sure your brother has told you before this, that to reverse a spell you must know something about either the spell itself, or the sorcerer who cast it," Frigga said. Thor nodded, remembering how Loki had said as much on the occasion Steve Rogers had been cursed with fear. 

He had also said the same thing several times, nervously, when he was trying to explain to Thor how he had come to spend nearly a week in the form of a kitten.

"And so you are attempting to find the spell?" he stated the obvious, and his mother nodded. 

"The same, or at least one similar enough to be useful. It is tiresome going," she admitted. "I have neglected my studies in recent centuries, so I have not the close familiarity with these texts that your brother would. However, your friends have very kindly offered their help." 

"I may be able to offer a little of my own," Thor told her. "The circumstances suggest the spell was cast by someone on Midgard-- _my_ Midgard, I mean. And... the Loki who appeared-- "

"He really is Loki, then?" Frigga asked. 

Thor chewed his lip, considering. "He is, and is not. He looks some two or three centuries older, and... bitter. Not as our Loki used to look, exactly-- do you remember how he would look both angry and longing?" Thor had scarcely noticed it at the time, and of course he was not Heimdall, who saw all and could if necessary cast his vision back to re-view that which had been seen but not especially noted. Still, he was sure he could remember Loki standing at the edge of any group he was part of, even when it was just the family, craving notice but resigned to not getting it. 

Thor swallowed, his throat rather stiff, and went on, "Our Loki-- when I paid him a scrap of attention, I could tell he always hoped for more." _And I took pleasure in withholding it._ "This one-- he does not want me to notice him. He showed dislike and... and fear toward me. I am sure he recognized me," Thor added quickly, before his mother could offer the same well-meant reassurances Mitchell had. "And that, it seems to me, is a clue of sorts. He must have come from, if not another Asgard, then at least somewhere with another Thor. And... the fact he is harder and angrier-- This exchange cannot have happened by accident."

"No?" his mother prompted. 

"No. Well, I should not say _cannot,"_ Thor amended. "But the circumstances argue against it. I do realize there is always the chance of a spell having unforeseen results, but _our_ Loki was not attempting to cast anything when he vanished-- he was in full view of both Annie and Mitchell when it happened, and they were having an ordinary conversation."

"And the other Loki?" Frigga prompted. 

"Was far too weak and injured to cast any spell at all. Were I in his position I feel sure I would have _wanted_ to cast a spell to save myself, even at the expense of someone else, but in his state of exhaustion I really do not feel he was capable of so doing."

"You are quite sure the spell itself was not the cause of the exhaustion?" Frigga asked, quite obviously making sure neither of them overlooked anything for reasons of sentiment. It was uncomfortable but, Thor reminded himself, necessary. 

Still, he was glad for both their sakes to be able to shake his head and say without equivocation, 

"No, the exhaustion was in combination with a number of very serious injuries and a condition of neglect." At the conflicted look that darted across his mother's face, Thor added quickly, "If you are thinking that you should go to him and offer your aid, I wish you would reconsider for now. I honestly do not know how he would react to you-- it is possible he has no affection for anyone of Asgard-- and Loki's friends are doing their best to help him. It may be that they are what he needs at this moment."

"Much as they were when your own brother lost everything," Frigga said, with a grim little smile. 

"It may be that we will not be the only family who has reason to be grateful to them," Thor said gently. His mother nodded, looking tired and miserable. Thor hoped Sif had been able to persuade her at least to eat: taken up as she was with her task, it was easy to imagine her forgetting to do so unless reminded.

Now, who did _that_ sound like?

Remembering that he had not completed his explanation, and hoping it might distract her a little, Thor quickly went on to tell her of his deductions regarding the source of the magical exchange. 

"As I was just saying, it seems to be most unlikely this was an accident. And I find it difficult to believe in an innocent explanation-- it seems to me that someone must have engineered the exchange. And, while I suppose some other reality might be so hard-pressed, so in need of the aid of a sympathetic sorcerer like our Loki, that they would kidnap him by force and then plead their case afterward-- it seems far more likely the other Loki was the real target."

"How so?" Frigga asked. 

"As I have said, he is angry and embittered, potentially dangerous, and-- well, it simply seems to me that if one was callous enough to abduct someone to another reality, one might do it out of a desire to make an evil use of that person-- what?" Thor broke off in alarm, at his mother's look of distress. 

"I am just remembering... then. One of the things that made your brother so frantic was his conviction that your father and I had kept him solely in the hope of one day being able to make use of him. Even if this other Loki has had entirely different experiences thus far, if his character bears any resemblance to your brother's at all-- "

Thor, remembering what his own brother had done in the peaceful little town of Puente Antiguo, tried not to imagine what the changeling Loki might be willing to do in Totterdown. If he was able-- surely he could not circumvent both Catherine's spell of control _and_ the rhinoceros charm?

"Surely he would not-- " Thor began, and then did not quite have the courage to complete the sentence. 

"I hope not," his mother said. 

"You sound discouraged," Thor ventured. 

"I am," Frigga admitted. "The difficulty-- and it is one your father is also encountering-- is that we of Asgard are very powerful within the Nine Realms, but our reach extends no farther, and our knowledge is similarly limited." With a little grimace, she added, "In times past that was surely a mercy-- there were kings in the days before your grandfather who would have spared no expense in coin or men to be the conqueror of worlds beyond the Nine-- but now..."

"There are sorcerers on Midgard whose sight extends much farther," Thor assured her. "It is strange, considering how little the humans know of the Nine-- "

"Perhaps that is why they look elsewhere," Frigga suggested. "Perhaps we have for too long concentrated on the Nine and pretended nothing of interest or value could exist beyond Yggdrasil."

"That may be so," Thor agreed. "Regardless, our friend Agent Coulson has agreed to seek out one of these sorcerers and ask his help. I have come to tell you what I know so far, and-- I hope-- to gather intelligence to take back to assist him."

"You may tell him that, so far, our efforts have borne little fruit," Frigga said wryly. Knowing how it must hurt her to be unable to help her lost son, Thor leaned toward her and laid a hand on hers.

As he did so, the chains at his belt gave an ugly rattle, like those worn by the ghostly Jacob and Robert Marley in the story of Ebenezer Scrooge. (Tony Stark had showed a filmed version of the story to his friends at Thanksgiving, performed by the Muppets who had become great favourites of Steve Rogers.) He hastily reached down to still the chains, muttering an apology. His mother, unfortunately, leaned over to see what had made the noise. 

"What are _those?"_ she demanded, alarmed and clearly upset. "Thor?"

"I apologize, Mother," Thor said quickly. "Heimdall must have told you the changeling was shackled when he arrived?" 

"Yes, he did," Frigga said. "And these are the bonds he was wearing?"

"Yes," Thor confirmed. "The shackles are of Asgard, but I believe the muzzle-- " he could not suppress a wince as he referred to it-- "was crafted on Midgard."

"Is that so," Frigga said slowly, her eyes drifting toward the books. That was all she said for nearly a full minute. She might have been too horrified by the idea to face it, but Thor was familiar with Loki's expression when his brain was moving so quickly his tongue could not keep up. He held his peace and waited.

It was almost as though his mother had forgotten he was there: her entire attention now focused on the books stacked before her. Nothing moved except her eyes-- the one point of similarity, Thor had always thought, between himself and his graceful mother. It occurred to him that he had been so busy seeing similarities between Loki and their mother, he had not thought to wonder about himself-- but the keen expression on his mother's face as she sought her quarry might, perhaps, be not entirely unfamiliar to anyone who knew Thor. 

Frigga suddenly reached out and pushed three books off the top of a stack. Ignoring the crash as they tumbled, she pulled the fourth book toward her and began to flip through the pages. 

The sound naturally brought Sif and Fandral at a run, presumably fearing the queen had swooned from exhaustion and worry. They looked more than nonplussed to see her focusing on the book with ferocious attention. 

"What is she-- ?" Fandral whispered to Thor. It was unclear whether he was simply respecting the queen's concentration, or whether he feared what she might do if he interrupted her. Looking at Frigga's expression, it was difficult to fault the latter.

"I am waiting for an explanation myself," Thor whispered back. 

Frigga uttered a sound of triumph and sat back, both hands spread upon the pages of the grimoire as though to absorb the contents through her skin.

"Those shackles are the very ones worn by the changeling Loki when he replaced ours," she said, looking to Thor for confirmation. She still looked intense enough he was glad to be able to reply in the affirmative. "And they were crafted by different armourers, on different realms, from within that other reality?"

"I am certain of it."

"Then this spell may be able to help your Midgardian sorcerer," Frigga said, her tone mingling triumph, anxiety, and hope. "It speaks of using an artifact to locate its creator. It should be possible to modify the spell to permit it to work across dimensions, and at least find the reality they came from."

"Really?" Thor asked, as hope bubbled up within him. 

"I believe so," Frigga said. She looked at the book as though tempted to rip the page out, then controlled herself. "Your father wishes to speak to you, and I know you will want to see him before you return to Midgard. I will make a fair copy of this, and you can retrieve it after you see your father. All right?"

"All right," Thor agreed, leaned over to kiss his mother, and all but ran from the library. 

~oOo~

"Just keep your eyes peeled, all right?" Mitchell advised as he and George walked toward Victoria Park. "I don't _think_ Ivan plans to double-cross us-- or anyway, I can't think of anything he'd stand to gain by doing it-- but there's no point in our being stupid." At the frankly disbelieving look that crossed George's face, Mitchell grimaced. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," George agreed. 

After Loki had consented to stay at the house with Annie, Mitchell responded to Ivan's text and arranged to meet him at a particular bench in the park, down near the tennis courts. The location had the advantage of being out in the open and easy to find. 

The two friends had intended to keep watch for movement under trees and near outbuildings-- dusk was falling, but both Mitchell and George had excellent night vision. Which, in the event, they did not need.

As it turned out, all they had to do was look for the rhinoceroses. 

"Ivan." Mitchell kept his voice even as he and George walked up to the bench. "Daisy." Ivan raised a hand in casual salute, and Daisy glanced briefly in his direction before she returned her attention to the cowboy-booted toe she was jiggling for the amusement of the tiny rhinoceros calf who was trying to catch it with his lips. Knowing Daisy, she would be as likely as not to kick the little creature in the face, but perhaps the presence of the baby's hulking, vigilant mother would for once encourage restraint. 

"Mitchell," Ivan drawled, eyes flicking over George, dismissing him, before he turned back to Mitchell. George tried not to take offense: most vampires had little use for werewolves, and they generally expressed it a lot more... aggressively... than this. Daisy, smirking a little, eyed him in rather a different way. It was a relief when Mitchell spoke.

"There was something you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked abruptly. 

Ivan smiled wearily-- he had the look of someone who always seemed a little weary, in contrast to Daisy's air of suppressed, nearly manic, energy. 

"Do you know a bloke named Edgar Wyndham?" he asked, leaning back on the bench. 

Mitchell frowned. "I've met him once or twice. Years ago, with Herrick."

Ivan inclined his head gently. "Yes, when you were Herrick's fair-haired-- or I suppose I should say black-hearted-- boy."

Mitchell flushed and declined to discuss his past. "What about Wyndham? You mentioned something about Dr. Doom as well."

Ivan glanced at Daisy, inclining his head in a wordless question. She rose to her feet, and he followed suit. 

"Let's walk," Ivan proposed. "We'll be less conspicuous." 

"Just a pair of courting couples," Daisy suggested maliciously. It was hardly the first time George and Mitchell had been teased about being a couple, so they ignored the remark and the four walked together along the gravel paths.

Six, if you were counting the rhinoceroses. 

"Wyndham and von Doom showed up at our place," Ivan explained, "with a proposal that we-- the vampires-- join a scheme of theirs."

"They're back on the world domination lark, are they?" Mitchell asked, sounding weary as much as alarmed.

"So they say," Ivan agreed. 

"Do they actually have a plan this time?" George couldn't stop himself asking. The three vampires looked at him and he flushed. "Herrick always sounded like... well, like he hadn't thought through any of the steps between _vampires reveal their existence_ and _vampires rule the world._ Sorry, I'm sure there was a lot of tactical planning I didn't know about, but from the outside it didn't look as if strategy was his long suit."

Ivan stared at George, really looking at him for the first time, and then he actually laughed.

"Yes, well, you're not entirely wrong. And no, I don't know if they've actually got a plan. What I do know is, von Doom seems very confident he'll be able to get your pal Loki onside." 

"You wouldn't happen to know why he'd think that, would you?" Daisy asked, looking boldly at Mitchell and then George.

George fortunately had the sense to keep quiet, and Mitchell replied coolly, 

"No idea. What exactly did he say about it?"

"Not very much," Ivan said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offering them around. Mitchell and Daisy accepted, and as they lit up Ivan explained, "If Wyndham has a plan, he's not sharing it with me until I deliver the vampires' allegiance to him. Which I don't intend to do-- we've all died once too often for my comfort already." Mitchell inclined his head in agreement. Ivan exhaled a plume of smoke and added, "If you can send your friend home to Neverland for a little holiday, and then maybe let the Avengers know about Doom's involvement, that would probably be the best thing for everyone."

"We'll speak to them about it," Mitchell said, carefully neutral.

"Good. I've got to meet with Wyndham and von Doom to give our answer. If I find out anything else, I'll text you."

"That's very helpful of you." George's tone was frankly suspicious. 

"It's very self-interested of me," Ivan corrected. "The last thing I want is for that Hawkeye bloke of yours to remember how to shoot old-fashioned wooden arrows, if you know what I mean."

"I've had the same thought myself," Mitchell murmured. George gave him a sharp look, and Mitchell shrugged. "It's crossed my mind, is all. Not recently." Turning back to Ivan, Mitchell asked, "When are you planning to meet?" 

"Tonight."

"I should come with you," Daisy spoke up, her husky voice fretful. It was clear they'd had this conversation already, probably more than once.

"No," Ivan said firmly. "There's not a lot Wyndham can do to me, but he could get inside your head enough to be... uncomfortable for you. I'd much rather know you're safe."

Looking at the glint in her eye, George had trouble imagining Daisy being threatened by very much at all. Ivan, however, looked genuinely worried, so he was either a doting idiot or there really was something to be worried about. 

Well, all right, there was plenty to be worried about already. Something _else_ to be worried about.

"All right," Mitchell said, "send me a text when your meeting's over, yeah?"

"Fine," Ivan agreed, and they went their separate ways, the rhinoceroses following Ivan and Daisy.

"Come on, George," Mitchell murmured, picking up speed as he walked rapidly toward the edge of the park. "We'd best get home and-- and figure out how to prepare ourselves."

"Prepare ourselves for what?" George asked, hurrying along beside his taller friend. "What, _now_ you think Ivan plans to sell us out?"

"I don’t think he wants to," Mitchell admitted, "but he's going off to tell a very powerful Old One _and_ a maniacal supervillain that the local vampires won't join their scheme."

"Yes?" George prompted. 

"Well, you don't think they're going to take that well, do you? Ivan doesn't want the vampires mixed up in anything that will lead to humans finding out about them, but he also doesn't want to piss off Doom or Wyndham enough to make them turn on him or his people. And he's worried: look at how careful he was to get Daisy out of the way. If _I_ were Ivan, I'd tell those two that the Bristol vampires want to see some sort of proof of a workable plan before they join in. And then I'd hope like hell something-- like intervention by the Avengers-- stops them before they can provide it."

"And what would you call _proof of a workable plan,"_ George began, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Mitchell, whose thin dark face was set, eyes hooded. George answered his own question: "They'll have to get Loki, won't they? They'll have to show he's under their control."

"That's what I figure," Mitchell agreed. "Having a powerful sorcerer like Loki on their side would certainly shift the odds toward them, wouldn't it? We've got to get home and warn him and Annie." 

George fully agreed, and probably would have broken into a dead run if Mitchell's mobile hadn't chosen that moment to ring in his jacket pocket. Mitchell glanced at the display, then turned it so George could see. 

"What's Tony Stark calling for?" George demanded. 

"One way to find out," Mitchell replied. "Tony? It's Mitchell." 

~oOo~

After George and Mitchell left to meet Ivan, Annie found herself prowling the ground floor of their house, unable to sit still or concentrate on anything. She made another pot of tea just to keep her hands busy, and refilled Loki's mug each time he emptied it for the same reason. 

Mitchell hadn't believed Ivan was up to anything, she reminded herself. 

But he hadn't completely trusted Ivan, either. And Mitchell was the one who always said vampires were arseholes. Suppose Ivan was in league with Doom and the Old Ones after all? Suppose he was luring Mitchell and George into a trap? Suppose-- ?

Scamp whined suddenly, looking at Loki with a concerned expression on her little face. Annie turned as well, to see Loki shifting uneasily on the sofa with an expression of anxiety, or perhaps discomfort. She was immediately stricken with guilt: in her worry over Mitchell and George-- and _her_ Loki as well-- she had completely forgotten how recently _this_ Loki had been badly injured, and had been paying almost no attention to him.

"Loki, are you all right?" she asked gently. To her surprise, he looked rather embarrassed as well as uncomfortable. 

And then she remembered the way he seemed unable to ask for anything he needed, let alone take independent action to get it, as well as the mugs of tea she had mindlessly poured for him and he-- still dehydrated-- had apparently drunk, and-- 

_Oh._

As matter-of-factly as she could, Annie asked, "Do you need to use the toilet?"

It took a moment to make herself understood, but it turned out, in fact, that was exactly what Loki needed. Annie tried to make as little as possible of the situation as she escorted him up the stairs and briefly explained the Midgardian facilities. She hoped he now grasped the fact that as a guest in the house, he was welcome and invited to use them any time he felt the need. 

Then she left him in privacy and went down the hall, reminding herself to keep an eye on yet another issue with this Loki. _Her_ Loki, when he first arrived, had also been shy of asking for anything he needed, apparently afraid if he assumed too much or made a nuisance of himself he would be made to leave. In retrospect, Annie blessed George-- who, though it was hard to remember now, had been the most suspicious of Loki in those days-- for giving him that _Abbey Road_ poster to decorate the box room, in a sort of wordless assumption he was going to stay. 

_Her_ Loki had been lost and insecure and afraid, too. But even in those very early days he had quickly realized it was safe to _use the toilet_ when he needed to. Whatever had been done to this Loki had gone a lot deeper than what happened to hers-- and _her_ Loki was still coping with the aftereffects of his experiences. 

Talking had helped _her_ Loki, but in his case the groundwork for that had been laid by the protective spells his father had cast after him as he fell. Whatever happened to _this_ Loki had certainly not included protections. Annie reminded herself to stay alert: perhaps she couldn't fight vampires or Dr. Doom, but surely there were things she could do to help this Loki's recovery.

By this time Annie was at the door of the box room. She peered in to see Philip and Elizabeth, the kittens, curled up on Loki's bed. Elizabeth looked up and mewed at her. Annie came in and sat down on the edge of the bed, then picked up one of Loki's pillows and hugged it. 

That was where Loki found her some minutes later. He peered in, looking uncertain, but when Annie patted the bed he was willing enough to join her. 

For a moment they sat in silence, Loki giving no sign he was aware of Annie's covert glances at his profile. Last night, hurt and exhausted as he was, he had looked older than the Loki who belonged here. Now she could see what he really looked like the impression lingered: even granted he was half-starved, this Loki's high cheekbones and sharp jaw were somehow more defined, more set, than the Loki she knew. Annie had died at twenty-two, and anyone looking at herself and her Loki as a couple would probably guess he was two or three years her senior. This one looked at least five or six years older than that, and Annie spent a moment trying to do the maths in her head to figure out what the difference would be in human years. 

Loki finally broke the silence between them.

"This chamber belongs to him, does it not? The-- the Loki who belongs here." 

Annie heard the wince in his tone, but since she didn't know what to do about it she just answered his question. 

"Yes, this is his room. It was the only one we had empty when he arrived, and now he says he likes it. He says it's cozy. Of course, he doesn't spend much time here except to sleep and get dressed and things." She looked around the room, taking in the posters, the drawings created by the children at school, the wall-hung shelves containing his books and collection of Avengers action figures. 

"And the monster?" Loki asked suddenly, spitting the words out with an obvious effort. Annie turned to him in surprise, and realized he was looking at Loki's poster of a white rhinoceros. The animal stood at an angle to the camera, head carried low, gazing out at the viewer with a reflective expression. Loki had searched shops and then the Internet to find the poster, and she vividly remembered how pleased and excited he had been when it arrived. 

To Annie, the rhino in the picture looked about as much like a monster as the kittens did. On the other hand, this Loki hadn't been charged and thrown across a street by the kittens. Given the state he'd been in, and the fact he'd been rendered unconscious for quite some time after, Annie had thought-- hoped-- he wouldn't remember the encounter.

"You mean the rhinoceros?" Annie asked, carefully not yet challenging his use of the word _monster._ His face had gone pale and set, and she really didn't like to imagine what he was thinking as he stared at the picture. 

"Yes," Loki replied. "The _rhinoceros."_ In a carefully controlled but still raw tone, he went on, "The creature that attacked me as I tried to flee this place, that helped you to capture me. Is this-- is this a warning to that other Loki? Is this image perhaps enchanted to send the monster after him, too, should he try to escape?"

This was the first hint he'd given that he might not believe their Loki lived here happily and of his own free will. When you considered the circumstances she supposed it was understandable, but to say Annie was appalled at the idea was an understatement.

"Oh, no," she exclaimed, and reached toward him. Loki drew away a little, clasping his hands defensively together in his lap. When he turned to look at her it was obvious whatever fragile trust he'd begun to feel had been badly shaken by this memory. 

Annie made herself take a moment to think what to say.

"It's not a monster," she said finally. "Really, it's not. A rhinoceros is just, just an animal that eats plants and doesn't bother anyone who's not trying to hurt it. Or its baby, if it's a mother," she amended. Loki's face registered open disbelief that was beginning to edge toward hostility. Annie tried again. "The one you ran into-- that ran into _you,_ I mean-- that was a spell our Loki put on the neighbourhood. Mitchell told you about vampires, do you remember?" She waited for him to nod stiffly. "Well, a while ago the vampires started making threats against people our Loki wanted to protect-- children, mostly. And Loki created a spell so that if any kind of supernatural creature threatened a place where children gathered, a rhinoceros would show up to stop them."

Loki's set face changed very slightly. Annie knew _that_ look.

"I know you weren't trying to hurt anyone when you ran away. You were just really scared, and probably angry. Nobody blames you for that. The thing is-- I told you that our Loki did some terrible things, before he came here. Well, when he did them, he was really scared and angry too, and... not thinking clearly. And I think he put something in the spell, specially, just to protect everyone against _him,_ in case he ever got that way again. _We_ know he won't, but _he_ doesn't trust himself, and I think, even though he set the spell himself, the magic couldn't tell you're a different person. I'm so sorry." 

Still pale, Loki gazed at her with no change of expression. Annie cast around in her mind to find some way to explain about the rhinoceroses.

"Loki picked rhinos because he likes them," she finally went on. It sounded lame in her own ears. "The... one of the bad-- one of the _wrong_ things he did, before he fell, was... he attacked a place called Jotunheim." Loki didn't move, but she could feel the tension in him worsen. It was probably careless to assume this Loki was also born Jotun, but something about the way he went still made her think that must be true, and maybe he'd done some things besides falling that mirrored _her_ Loki's actions. 

"Our Loki was born on Jotunheim-- he was Jotun himself-- before he was adopted by his Aesir family, but they didn't teach him anything about the Jotnar people, and he-- and Thor, too-- grew up believing they were, were just monsters. When he attacked them, he didn't even realize he was committing a crime against people. I think he thought he was protecting _real_ people from monsters, and maybe trying to prove _he_ wasn't a monster himself.

"When he came here, he started to learn... Just because you look big and scary, that doesn't make you a monster. That was part of the mistake he made about the Jotnar, the fact they looked so frightening to him meant... he didn't think there could be anything else _to_ them. But there are lots of creatures that-- A rhinoceros is... well, _I_ think they're pretty ugly, honestly. Or at least I used to. But really, they're just big animals that eat plants and-- they're actually related to horses. I know," she added, smiling, "it doesn't seem possible, but Loki's read a lot about them and he showed me the book. Distantly related, but still."

"I see," murmured Loki, but his tone was unconvinced. She wasn't sure that was only about the natural history.

Annie was quite sure he was as relieved as she was when, from downstairs, they heard the door open and Mitchell call their names.

~oOo~

Stark had expected Dunlap to be angry when he arrived at the new cell to tend to the prisoner again. Instead, the medic's current attitude could be better described as contemptuous. Oh, he answered their questions and he addressed Fury as _sir,_ but there was a general air of wanting to scrape them all off the sole of his shoe as he did so. 

"Yes, sir, I understand that you want to question him again as soon as possible," Dunlap was saying now, not looking directly at anybody. "But I've reviewed the footage of the incident, and magically induced or not, what happened to him looked exactly like a tonic-clonic-- grand mal-- seizure, and a really bad one at that. And, since the seizure behaved exactly the way it would in a human-- except a lot worse-- it's perfectly likely that he'll come out of it the same way a human would, only maybe more slowly."

"And how would a human 'come out of it'?" Rogers asked. 

Dunlap's shoulders were so tense it was surprising he managed to shrug. "He's already been unconscious for longer than you'd expect of a human, but the seizure lasted a lot longer, too. When he comes to, you can expect him to be disoriented, probably sleepy, and he might not remember what happened right before the seizure." Lip curling slightly, the medic editorialized, "If he's lucky, he won't remember." Before anyone could respond to that, Dunlap went on, "He could also have quite a headache. He's not going to be able to concentrate well enough to answer questions. If you'll take my advice, you'll let him alone for at least twenty-four hours. Let me run some IV fluids through him, give him something for the pain and try to figure out what else ails him-- something respiratory, by the looks of it-- and when he's ready to talk I'll let you know."

"This is a matter of international security," Fury said, in a quietly dangerous tone that was much scarier than his shouting. 

Dunlap was too pissed off to be intimidated. "And _that-- "_ he gestured toward the monitor, which showed the still figure lying on the cot, his left shoulder now securely wrapped in bandages-- "is a prisoner who is _physically incapable_ of answering questions. You can beat him all you want to," the contempt was bubbling to the surface now-- "he _can't do it._ So you might as well not waste your time making him worse so the whole thing takes even longer."

"Do you know what he's done?" Fury demanded. 

"Do you know what I used to do, before I joined SHIELD?" Dunlap retorted. The question wasn't quite as random as it sounded, because he immediately went on, "I was on the medical teams at several maximum-security prisons. He's a bad guy, I get that. I'm used to treating bad guys. They bleed and hurt like everyone else, and when they do it on my watch I patch them up the same way I do anyone else."

"The same as Phil Coulson?" Stark suddenly heard himself ask. 

"I was on duty the day Coulson died, yes," Dunlap replied crisply. He looked around at the Avengers, and realization passed over his face. "I see. I actually knew Phil pretty well, you know. He was a good agent and a pretty good guy. The Captain America worship got a little old, but I liked him. I was sorry when he died, and sorry I couldn't help him-- and I was _really_ sorry one of the last things he found out before he died was that Captain America was kind of an asshole-- but that doesn't change my responsibility to a severely injured prisoner."

"Doesn't change the chain of command, either," Fury said softly. 

"No, sir," Dunlap replied, and _sir_ sounded exactly like _asshole,_ too. "It doesn't." 

~oOo~

Consciousness returned gradually-- he seemed for the longest time to be floating, as though in water, and he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. His muscles ached, but that was largely obscured by the throbbing in his shoulder and head, and the deep, tearing burn within his chest. Even with his eyes closed he knew the light was too bright, and when he finally opened them it was only the barest sliver. 

Out of the corner of his left eye he could see something white, seeming to pulsate with the pounding through his shoulder at every heartbeat. As he became more aware of his body as a physical entity, he could also feel a peculiar stinging sensation in the skin of his palms, the back of his aching head, over his heart--

 _Oh._

He shifted a little, in spite of the pain, moving his head enough to see his bare chest through his slitted eyes. The blurry dark marking on his pale skin gradually resolved itself into a rune. He choked back the panicky sob that rose in his throat. Still unable to organize his thoughts well enough to wonder where-- or _who--_ he was, he was at least aware of what the runes meant. They were a matter of deep knowledge, and deeper fear, and he _knew_ what purpose they served. 

Vague memories began to gather, voices shouting accusations at him. He had done... something. Something terrible. Jumbled images slithered through his mind: destruction, burning, fleeing little creatures, himself looking down upon everything as Thor fell from the sky--

 _He had done this._ He had, had done all of it. 

It felt wrong. _What had he wanted? Why would he-- ?_

The question was driven from his mind by the face of Tony Stark, a face filled with anger and a disdain that made everything within him cringe. Tony Stark knew, knew he was evil, and--

Another picture filled his mind, of Thor and Steve Rogers leaning over him, restraining him so they might draw the runes. Thor and Steve Rogers had done this. They had inscribed the runes. That meant--

Something within him bowed down, a part of him that recognized the futility of his resistance. He lied, he always lied, to himself and to everyone. He did not remember his role in the terrible memories, but that too was a lie, had to be a lie. 

The runes were only used on the worst criminal sorcerers, those beyond redemption and beyond mercy. 

The runes had been inscribed on his flesh. He could see them, feel them eating at his skin as their power coursed through him, wrapping around his pitiful little store of magic and throttling its struggles. 

Only the worst of criminals had ever been punished this way. It was only done to the vile and evil and remorseless. Whether he remembered or not, Thor and the others _knew._ They _knew,_ and this was their judgment. 

It was too hard to think any longer. What he thought, what he told himself he remembered, did not matter. He could not argue with the runes, could not plead or protest or promise he was sorry-- 

He _was_ sorry, and that made no sense at all. He was sorry for every confused picture of damage and terror that tumbled through his mind. It did not matter. It was too late to be sorry. He was beyond hope of forgiveness, the proof marked on his skin. 

His eyes had closed again, without his leave, but there was no purpose in opening them. 

He began to float again, consciousness fading. As it did, he became aware of a face looking down at him, a beautiful young woman with kind dark eyes. He yearned toward her, but he was too ashamed to reach out and besides, his body was no longer subject to his control.

The young woman faded away as he slid back into darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we detour slightly for a little Thor-related business. I was so annoyed at the way he was written in the second and third movies that I sometimes have to remind myself why I liked him so much in the first, and what I thought he'd actually learned in it. There are also a couple of points from the first movie that seem worth addressing. 
> 
> Comment on these Avengers: they're not exactly Dark!Avengers, or at least they don't mean to be. But **The Avengers** didn't exactly lend itself to the heroes doing any nuanced thinking about how they should treat their enemies (that was expressly not what the story was about) and so Steve in particular felt "off" to me-- and also like he might have some work to do in terms of re-assessing who he is and how he fits into the world in which he finds himself. So far I've let him follow orders for the first day of H!Loki's captivity, but he's not going to let himself do that forever.
> 
> Also, for anyone who hasn't read this whole series, Loki's confused memories of destruction are a combination of his own crimes from the original **Thor** movie (mostly his attack on Jotunheim), and of a number of battles and adventures that have occurred in the course of this series, and in which he wasn't the villain. Not that he remembers that detail.
> 
> Also, there's a bit of fanon I've run into, in which surveillance systems in a room (usually JARVIS) can detect vital signs from anyone present. I'm not sure that's possible, but neither is a flying man-shaped metal suit, so I'm borrowing it anyway.
> 
>  **Warnings:** More H!Loki whump, but we're pretty nearly at the end of it. If it's any comfort, my original scratch notes were much worse. 
> 
>  

 

Thor had passed through the doors of the king's private council chamber before it occurred to him the respectful course would have been to request admittance, and then await leave to enter. 

Loki would never have forgotten that point of etiquette. 

Loki would also have assured him-- and these days, at least, been perfectly sincere-- that the rules were different for the crown prince. That idea made Thor feel even more uncomfortable. 

And there was no more time to think about any of that, since both Odin and Tyr were already turning to greet him. 

"Thor," Odin said, gesturing toward a seat at the table. The fact he was so obviously expected made Thor feel rather better about bursting in. As he sat down his father asked, "You have been to speak to your mother?"

"Yes. She has found a spell she believes will assist our Midgardian sorcerers in finding the dimension where Loki has been taken." 

Odin had looked perfectly calm, as he ever was, when Thor walked in, but at this piece of news a little previously-invisible tension went out of him. "Good. Good. Your friend Agent Coulson has set out for Loki's home, in a flying ship. He is accompanied by a second man-- this would be your Midgardian sorcerer?"

"I would expect so," Thor agreed. From his throne, Odin could see the Nine almost as well as Heimdall. It was to be hoped that King Njord of Vanaheim had not been too offended, during their meeting, by Odin's air of distraction. 

"I have asked Njord to consult his mages concerning the matter," Odin went on-- Thor had not realized their meeting was directly about Loki-- "and a messenger will be sent to you on Midgard if it becomes necessary. In the meantime, seeing is not knowing. Will you tell me what happened?"

Odin's private manner, Thor reflected, had become considerably less peremptory in the last year or two. The change was almost certainly an outgrowth of his recent efforts to address his younger son in ways that did not make Loki feel dismissed or silenced. Thor had never much suffered from their father's old manner, since as crown prince he had considerable leeway to speak and be heard, but he could not say he objected to this more respectful mode of address being applied to himself as well. 

The very swiftest Midgardian aircraft took several hours to make the journey from America to Britain, and besides, Mother needed a little time to write out the spell in a legible hand. There being no pressing need for hurry, Thor marshalled his thoughts and related the facts of the situation as fully and clearly as he knew how. 

By the time he finished, Tyr looked torn between anxiety and a sort of gallows mirth. 

"I do apologize, Allfather, I know your son does not put himself into these situations on purpose, but-- it really is beyond my comprehension how such things keep happening to him. It is both bewildering and strangely impressive." 

"Yes," Odin agreed, "although I am sure Loki would prefer his other talents to come to the fore. Particularly given his intent to become a teacher of Midgardian children."

"I did not realize he had told you of those plans," Thor said, at least in part to avoid thinking of, for instance, Loki someday being involuntarily exchanged for a tentacled monstrosity while he was in the middle of a lesson on the alphabet. 

"He did," Odin replied. "When he visited us at Yuletide. Well," Odin amended, "he told your mother, and your mother told me." 

"And you really do approve?" Tyr asked. Thor himself had wondered about that. The old general was a model of correct manner in public, but in private he had considerable license to speak freely. Which he now exercised: "For a prince of Asgard to live as a servant is unorthodox enough, but this new plan of his-- "

"-- is more than passing strange, yes," Odin agreed. "And yet I think we can both agree that, whatever lessons I believed I was imparting to the child as he grew up, what he actually learned from me was… something rather different. Midgard has been good for him, and if he chooses to spend a little time-- a few decades, a century or two-- in pursuits that require him to bear responsibility, exercise judgment and show compassion… he will hardly be the worse for them."

"You really believe he will return to Asgard in the end?" Tyr asked. "Take up his duties as a prince once again?"

"I believe he is young, and whether he returns to Asgard on a permanent basis or no, he will be the better for the lessons he is learning now." Odin inclined his head. "And now, my old friend, I wish to speak privately with my elder son-- "

As the door closed behind Tyr, Thor said quietly, "Tyr cannot be the only noble who feels as he does."

"He is not," Odin agreed. "But do not mistake his concern for disapproval. Tyr has always been fond of your brother-- although I rather suspect Loki does not realize it-- and is glad to see him thriving. It is just not the path we originally expected him to take."

"He was supposed to be my advisor," Thor said, and then-- with a little trepidation-- added, "though you never formally announced as much."

"No, and no more did I stop to consider the folly of expecting a young king to depend on a counsellor even younger and less seasoned than himself. I am afraid I mistook your brother's intelligence and power for wisdom and experience, which really was unutterably foolish of me." 

"It was not only the matter of experience," Thor blurted. "You must have seen how I despised Loki's counsel in those days-- unless he was egging me on to some folly I was already of a mind to pursue, I paid him no attention at all. It was hardly fair to expect him to fill an office he had never been properly trained for, and without any official status or authority."

It was considerably worse than unfair, but having already said a great deal more than enough, Thor bit down on anything else he might have added. 

There had been a time when Thor could have expected a heavy rebuke for his candour. Now, however, Odin nodded. "You are correct. And Loki was not the only son I failed." Raising a hand to forestall Thor's protest, he went on, "Instead of teaching you what you needed to be a true king, I expected you to simply know it. I praised and rewarded you for your prowess in battle, neglected all the other matters even more vital to successful rule, and then was surprised and angry when you behaved in exactly the manner I had always expected of you. Given the outcome I cannot be entirely sorry for banishing you to Midgard, but I owe you an apology for the fact it was necessary. I raised you to be one sort of man and king, then punished you for not being something else, and until now I have lacked the courage to admit it and ask your forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive," Thor mumbled, hot all over.

"There is," Odin said with certainty. "Just as there is much owed to Midgard for helping both my sons learn lessons they should have had from their father."

They were by now a long way from Loki's predicament, but the opportunity to ask was more than Thor could resist. 

"I, too, am grateful to Midgard," Thor agreed. "But I wonder-- "

"Yes?"

Thor shifted uneasily. This next point had been worrying him for months now-- since the first time he visited his brother on Midgard-- and he knew if he lost courage now he might never find another chance to ask his question. 

"I am grateful to Midgard," he repeated, "on behalf of both myself and also Loki. And I know, I _know_ Loki is happier in his current circumstances than he has been for-- probably since he left the nursery. But-- I cannot help thinking we were not treated equally." 

"In what way?" Odin looked suddenly concerned. "I know your mother and I have, of late, given far more consideration to your brother's well-being than-- "

"No, no, not that," Thor said hastily. With a wry little smile he added, "I was for a thousand years the centre of all attention-- I assure you, I will not die of sharing that place now, especially considering how badly my brother has needed the sunlight. 

"No, what I meant was the banishments themselves. Loki was lost in the void for more than a year before he landed on Midgard, and it was months after that before I went to find him. And by the time I did-- he _knew_ what he had done, Father. He knew, and regretted it, and had even come to understand he was wrong about the Jotnar. About the people themselves, I mean, not just the act he had committed against them. He was still afraid of them, yes, but he was coming to understand that was not their fault. What he was sent to learn, he had. I know he had. And yet his banishment did not end."

"That was politics, not my wish," Odin pointed out.

"And what could Jotunheim have done if you had decided to bring him home-- or at least ended his formal exile? How pleased were they-- despite my role in stopping Loki's attack on them-- when _I_ returned with all forgiven? You could have arranged something. You could have _enforced_ something."

"And made Asgard's ongoing contempt for Jotunheim clear to both realms at once?" Odin demanded. "I agree that Loki had learned the lessons he needed long before his banishment ended, but there was more at stake than his lessons. I had to make the point that what he did-- which went far beyond an ordinary act of war-- would not be tolerated against Jotunheim any more than against Midgard or Vanaheim. If I had declared his banishment over without consulting the realm he attacked, what message would that have sent? That _two_ all but unprovoked attacks on Jotunheim in a _week_ were of no importance?"

 _"Exactly,"_ Thor almost shouted. "So what of _me?_ Three days, Father. I spent _three days_ on Midgard, and then was welcomed back with open arms. How was _that_ fair?" Before his father could answer-- and Thor knew what the answer would be: Asgard could not be without both heirs; Thor's action in stopping Loki's attack on Jotunheim was excuse enough to pardon him-- he hastened to directly address the matter that had worried him all this time. "And since we were speaking of lessons-- I am not at all sure I had even _learned_ the lessons my exile was intended to teach me. I-- I do not know why you thought I had done enough. Loki was asked to spend all that time making himself over into what amounted to a new person, and I had only to snap my fingers. _Why?"_

Odin's one blue eye was steady on him. "You did rather more than snap your fingers, my son."

"Yes, all right, I put myself between the Destroyer and my friends. The Destroyer, which was _sent after me in the first place._ And really, Father, an act of physical courage? _That_ was the standard I had to reach? When had I ever shied from danger?"

"You were mortal," Odin pointed out. "Effectively human. I do not think your brother really grasped that point-- I hardly think he was capable, at the time, of seeing you as anything but the all-powerful elder brother he had always imagined you to be-- but you knew you occupied a fragile mortal body, and you faced the Destroyer anyway." 

"Yes," Thor admitted. "I did. And… and when my powers returned, when Mjolnir flew back to my hand, do you remember what I did next?"

"Tell me," Odin said. 

"I smashed the Destroyer-- and then I told my friends that I intended to return to Asgard to _have words with my brother."_ Thor smiled bleakly. "I did not need to tell any of them the _words_ I intended to have would be uttered entirely with my fists, or with Mjolnir. I… I really meant to hurt him, Father. I had every intention of doing so."

"But you did not."

"That was only because he was, he was not in his right mind," Thor protested, looking down at his hands. "He was so… When I realized, I simply had not the heart. But had he been otherwise-- had he seemed sane-- I would have… I would not have stayed my hand. It might all have turned out very differently."

"And if he had been sane at the time-- if he had acted in the full understanding of what he was doing, if his intent had matched his actions-- would that not have made the situation very different as well?" 

Thor blinked. "I… do not understand-- ?"

Odin leaned forward. "You won back Mjolnir, yes. And you were very angry at your brother, yes-- rightfully angry, given what you knew at the time. But when you realized the state he was in, _you did not harm him._ You stopped him because you had to, but you did your best not to hurt him. You knew this was a circumstance in which hurting him-- no matter what he had done to you-- would be wrong. You won Mjolnir back with an act of courage and self-sacrifice, but that was not the end of your test, because the more important question was, _what would you do with your powers, when they were restored to you?_ It was what you did _after_ winning back Mjolnir that proved you worthy of keeping her." Odin paused, then said, "I would have given much if that second test had not involved your brother, but there are things we cannot control. Regardless, you needed to _have_ Mjolnir in order to prove you were worthy to keep her. 

"Your brother's path was… different. You referred to him making himself into a new person." Odin's one eye was suddenly grave. "That was very nearly what he had to do."

His father's words and expression reminded Thor of his promise to Agent Coulson. 

"Father," he said quietly, "tell me of your spell of cleansing. What exactly did it do to Loki?" 

Odin looked away. "I intended… it was meant…He was so angry when he learned the truth. Unbalanced, desperate-- when I arrived on the Bifrost I could have drawn him up, but in that last moment… I could see on his face--"

Thor nodded silently: of everything that had happened on that terrible day, the memory of Loki's face, just before he loosed his grip on Gungnir, was the chief spectre that haunted Thor's dreams. 

That it haunted their father's as well was clear from his expression. 

"I had so little time to think," Odin said softly. "I had only just awakened, my mind was not clear, and all I could think was that if I drew him back I would have to imprison him, punish him terribly, and one way or another he would still be lost to us, and so-- "

"The spell, Father," Thor said gently. Odin blinked and seemed to come back from a great distance. Thor pressed on: "You cast a spell that cleansed him of his anger, to give him a chance to heal. What else did it do?"

Odin sighed. "The spell did exactly what it was intended to do. The trouble was, I thought of his anger as an explosion, a storm from a clear sky-- I knew he was furious, and frightened, but I thought it was all the result of the revelation of his heritage. It never occurred to me to wonder _how long_ he had been angry. I think now that he must have been angry from the time he was left alone in that temple-- both angry, and afraid."

"Which explains why he was lost for so long," Thor nodded. "It was not only three days' worth of anger; there was far more for the spell to do. But I still do not quite see-- ?"

"He was angry all his life," Odin said distinctly. "Underneath, where not even he could recognize it. Everything about his character, everything he tried to be as a man-- all of it was built on a foundation of anger he hardly even knew he felt. And every time he was pushed aside, or mocked, or someone else _left him-- "_

"He would become angrier," Thor said, beginning to see what his father was saying. "And… everything was tangled up together."

"Yes," Odin agreed. "And so when the anger was gone, everything else... fell. He had almost to build his character all over again." An odd little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Fortunately for him, your brother is a shapeshifter."

Thor considered. His father's words made sense. They certainly explained how thoroughly his brother had embraced his new life: freed of his old burdens and welcomed by his new friends, he had been able to begin again as almost a new person. 

Which also perhaps explained--

"Is that why you call him _child_ now?" Thor asked. Odin looked startled. "You do, you know. You have been doing so at least since he was taken prisoner by the Dire Wraiths." At Odin's suddenly shamefaced expression Thor added quickly, "He gives no sign of resenting it. I only wondered."

"Well," said Odin, "he is… younger than he was."

"Yes," said Thor, and thought of Agent Coulson and _Supernanny._

~oOo~

Loki was lying quietly on the cot, gazing at the runes on his palms, when they came for him. His heart jerked at the sight of the faceless black creatures in the doorway of the cell, but he obeyed their commands to rise and hold out his hands. There was relief in the commands, in being given simple, understandable instructions and time to obey them. 

It came as a surprise when one of the creatures bound his wrists with cold metal. Indeed, he would have pulled back, except for the markings on his hands, reminding him he had no right to disobey. 

The faceless creatures surrounded him, made him walk down a long narrow corridor. The floor was cold on his bare feet, but as he walked he felt a little stronger, as if his mind was working better. He felt as if he would be able to do what was expected of him, when he learned what it was. 

He was taken into a brightly-lit room. In the room were a metal table and two chairs. Set in the table was a heavy ring. Loki was made to sit in one of the chairs, facing the door, and then his hands were bound to the ring in the table. This made it necessary for him to lean forward a little, despite his long arms, and it was not comfortable to the shoulder that hurt him. Still, the black runes on his palms reminded him the discomfort was deserved and he must not resist. 

Then he sat alone in the room for a long time-- it felt like a long time. The room was cold, he was not wearing shoes or a shirt, he was thirsty and his head hurt. Finally the door opened. Loki looked up from his hands and saw two men entering the cell. He was grateful they were men, and not more black faceless creatures. After a moment he recognized them: they were Director Fury and Agent Barton. He was glad he remembered their names.

Since he had awakened, Loki found he had difficulty in thinking clearly. It was better when he was moving, when his feet were on the cold metal floor, then his mind could work. When he lay on the cot his thoughts floated. Some of his thoughts frightened him-- fire, flying machines, blue creatures screaming in terror, and falling and falling and falling. He knew they were things he had done, but he did not know why he had wanted to do them. He did not remember doing them, but he remembered them happening, and so he must have done them. 

Not all of his thoughts were frightening. Sometimes he saw smiling faces-- Thor, or the king and queen of Asgard. He remembered them, and he pretended they smiled at him. He told himself lies, he always had, and now he was so confused the lies felt like things that really happened. 

His head hurt. He remembered his head hitting the wall, and Thor's face right in front of his, angry and unforgiving _(he did not deserve forgiveness)_ and all the while he could not breathe. He pretended Thor, and the king and queen-- he pretended their smiles were for him, but his aching head and the markings on his skin reminded him of his own lies.

He told himself other lies, too-- there was a beautiful young woman, and two kind-looking young men who came and went through his mind. They smiled at him, too, and he pretended they were real. 

He told lies to comfort himself, but not even he believed them. 

Now Agent Barton and Director Fury were before him, and he remembered Director Fury shouting at him. He knew that was true, it made sense and it must be real. There were other pictures in his mind, cold and snow _(he hated cold and snow, they made him afraid)_ and Agent Barton laughing, but they were lies, and they broke up and floated away as the two men closed the door behind them. 

Director Fury sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. Agent Barton walked around the table to stand behind Loki's left shoulder. That was the shoulder that hurt. He did not like having Agent Barton stand so close to the shoulder that hurt, where Loki could not see him. If he turned to look at Agent Barton, he could not see Director Fury, and he did not like that, either. Also, it was awkward to twist so with his hands secured to the ring in the table. 

"Okay, Loki of Asgard." Director Fury's voice was grave, and Loki turned back to face him. The director was not shouting, and Loki was glad because his head hurt. "I'm going to give you one more chance to answer my questions."

 _Thank you,_ Loki almost said, but instead he folded his hands into loose fists because he could not clasp them, and waited. 

Director Fury gestured and Agent Barton reached past Loki-- startling him considerably-- to put something on the table before him. 

It was a bottle of water, the top sealed, clear plastic sweating as though it was colder than the room. 

Loki's dry throat constricted with longing, and he turned to look up to the human. Agent Barton ignored him and stepped backward to his former place.

Because his hands were bound to the ring, Loki was unable to reach for the water. He would need assistance in order to open and drink it, and neither Barton nor Fury offered. He was so distracted by the thought of the cool liquid sliding down his throat that he did not at first hear Director Fury speaking again. 

"Loki." The repetition of his name brought Loki's attention back to Fury. "This is your last chance to help yourself, do you understand?" He did not know exactly what the human meant, but it was obvious what answer was expected of him, and so he nodded. "Good," said Fury, as Loki's eyes dropped back to the bottle of water. 

A moment later he jumped, jolting his throbbing shoulder and head, as Director Fury rapped sharply on the table. "Pay attention. I want to know what your plans are." Momentarily distracted from the water, Loki blinked dumbly at him, trying to imagine what sort of plans the director might be referring to. Fury's face became grim, and Loki felt the beginnings of panic. To his relief, however, Fury helped him: "You've already tried to conquer this world once."

_Fire, and flying machines, a winged monster, and Thor falling from the sky while destruction rained down and Loki watched from on high._

All that was his doing.

"I apologize," he whispered-- it was hard to speak normally, not with his throat so dry. Director Fury did not seem to hear him. 

"Your brother tells us you've got other allies. I want to know who they are and how to stop them."

Loki tried, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head-- and suddenly Agent Barton was looming over him, left hand flat on the table by Loki's elbow, face as close and angry as Thor's. He did not touch the shoulder that hurt, but Loki flinched away regardless. 

"We're going to stop you no matter what," the agent growled. "We know it, and you know it. I'm betting you don't want to be smashed by the Hulk again, right?"

There was a momentary pause in which Loki tried to think-- he could see the Hulk in his mind, roaring and leaping, and then suddenly it was dark and the Hulk in the distance was slamming something into the ground, and there was more fire and-- 

It was curious that he could not remember himself being harmed by the Hulk. However, it had happened, Agent Barton said so. Loki nodded. 

"You've already killed and injured a lot of innocent people-- "

_Blue creatures fleeing and screaming in terror--_

"-- and killed a friend of ours."

"I am sorry," Loki tried to say, but his dry tongue would not push the words past his dry lips, and Agent Barton did not hear him. 

"Coulson died trying to stop you," Agent Barton went on, and Loki felt his facial muscles go slack with surprise and horror. He did not hear the rest of what Agent Barton had to say, about how they would stop him again in the name of their lost friend. His slow and muddled brain was too full of pictures of the dark-haired, quiet man in his black suit-- his expression of calm, his air of constancy.

 _Why would he harm Agent Coulson, who had always been so kind to him?_ He wanted to protest that he _would not--_

But Agent Barton knew what he had done, even the things Loki could not remember. 

And besides, the runes on his skin told him this must all be true. He had done these things, he must have, or it would not have been necessary to punish him with the runes. 

The only puzzling thing was, some of the memories brought with them terrible shame, but for others-- fear and anger and something like grief, but nowhere in him a sense that he had _done_ them. And he could not remember _why_ he had done them. They did not feel like things he would want to do. Perhaps the runes took away the desire to commit crimes, to benefit from harm done to others- ?

"That last attack by the Chitauri-- " Director Fury was saying, as Loki's attention returned to him. 

"Dire Wraiths," Loki corrected, the name bobbing up in his mind and out his mouth. 

Fury stared at him. "Dire Wraiths?" he repeated. 

"Yes," Loki whispered, as loudly as he could now Fury was looking at him. A piece of memory floated past. "They attacked New York, and-- "

"The _Chitauri_ attacked New York," Fury barked, and Loki fell silent, hands working uselessly in the shackles. 

"You mean the Dire Wraiths are the ones that are _coming?"_ Agent Barton demanded from behind him. 

_No._ No, that was… that was wrong? But there were so many things he could not remember properly, that Agent Barton and Director Fury and the others did…

They remembered, and they did not tell lies. 

They did not tell lies.

Loki's hands relaxed and relief filled him as he looked up at Agent Barton. 

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "They are coming."

It was easier, after that: he told them everything he could remember about the Dire Wraiths-- their shapeshifting, their use of magic. When he did not remember something he agreed with what Director Fury and Agent Barton told him. They had a great many questions and by the time they had asked them all Loki was very tired, and his throat was more dry than ever. Sometimes he was distracted by the bottle of water sitting in front of him-- like a promise, if he pleased them-- but when that happened Director Fury rapped on the table and brought Loki's wandering attention back. 

Finally, they had no more questions. Director Fury rose from his chair without comment and left the room.

Agent Barton moved forward to stand next to Loki. He smiled a grim little smile. 

"Thank you," he said, "you've been very helpful." Then he picked up the bottle of water and twisted off the cap. Loki's throat worked.

Barton took a long drink, then he walked out of the room with the bottle in his hand and closed the door behind him. 

Loki sat looking at his hands until the faceless black creatures came to return him to his cell. 

~oOo~

"Well no, I _wouldn't_ agree with treating anybody else like this. But _anybody else_ didn't fucking _try to enslave our planet,"_ Stark snapped, turning back to the laptop he'd used to hack into the surveillance system so they could see what the hell was going on in the interrogation room. "And besides, the sensors in the room are monitoring his vital signs, and right now they're all consistent with him finally telling the truth. So whatever I think about their methods, _they're working."_

Rogers opened his mouth to argue, and then he considered the other man's hunched shoulders and the strain in his eyes, and closed it again. 

Banner, watching over Stark's shoulder, was superficially calmer, although Rogers had come to recognize the difference between _Banner is calm_ and _Banner is holding back the Other Guy._ At the moment it looked like a balancing act between the two. 

Rogers himself felt the way the other two looked-- uneasy, tense, and long past the point of questioning the methods being employed by SHIELD. Dunlap's comments had shaken him up, it was true-- and yeah, he still felt bad about the way he'd brushed off Coulson when the agent had tried to connect with him-- but that was only part of it. 

_What if he's telling the truth?_

He'd let the others convince him he was wrong-- hell, _he_ thought he was wrong. And even if he was right-- if this really was a different Loki-- that wasn't necessarily relevant. It was becoming clear Thor couldn't be trusted to give them good intel on his brother-- Rogers was starting to think Thor didn't _know enough_ s to tell them anything useful about his brother-- but they certainly knew Loki was a liar and a bad guy. Even if this really was a Loki who'd swapped in from some other universe, chances were good he was a liar and a bad guy there, too.

Rogers was starting to think that wasn't relevant, either. He kept hearing the medic's voice in his head:

_"He's a bad guy, I get that... They bleed and hurt like everyone else, and when they do it on my watch I patch them up the same way I do anyone else."_

Bad guys were still humans. And Loki, even though he was something else entirely-- not a god, no, but some kind of alien… He was the same kind of creature as Thor, who they all treated as if he had thoughts and feelings and rights. Steve knew what could happen, in the worst-case scenario, if you stopped realizing that was true about other people. He still had nightmares about the Hydra base he'd rescued Bucky from, what those scientists had been doing to their prisoners. 

No matter how bad a guy Loki was, there were still things you weren't supposed to-- weren't _allowed_ to-- do to your prisoners. It wasn't a matter of what Loki or anyone like him _deserved,_ it was a matter of who you were. 

Up until this point, Rogers had felt like they were acting for the best and in good faith. They'd had to question Loki. They'd had to stop him by any means necessary when he tried to escape. 

They'd had no reason to doubt Thor's assertion that the runes would just harmlessly block Loki's powers. 

But now they'd seen what the runes actually did to him-- now they were looking at the aftermath, with Loki stumbling around looking bewildered and helpless and maybe even sick-- 

Now he was past the point at which Rogers could justify his own actions. And, looking at the other two-- Stark putting up a front that was obviously getting shaky, Banner maybe thinking about the fact the Hulk-proof cell had been _replaced_ since their operation together, and was still intended to kill him if necessary-- he thought he probably wasn't the only one. 

The question was, what were they willing to do about it?

~oOo~

There had been vampires in Bristol for a very long time. As a consequence, there were also houses in the city that had belonged to vampires for many years, and Wyndham and his pal Doom were staying in one of them. Ivan was familiar with the place, having once used it as a safe house back before Daisy learned discretion. Now he walked up to the door with the sense that not very much had changed.

The door was unlocked-- vampires being among the few householders who positively welcomed burglars-- and Ivan needed no invitation to let himself in. The entry hall was dark and smelled musty. Von Doom, Ivan remembered, was actually the ruler of some odd little principality in one of the corners of Europe. He wondered how Doom was enjoying his welcome. 

"Hello," he called into the interior, taking a cautious step forward. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck.

"Ivan," came Wyndham's flat voice from the darkness. "Do come in. We've been waiting for you."

 _Won't you walk into my parlour?_

Ivan wasn't accustomed to feeling like the fly to anyone else's spider, and he didn't like it. However, with little choice in the matter he walked down the passage to the sitting room from which the voice had come. 

"It's polite of you to want to save on electricity," he remarked as he stepped through the door, "but I think the community can afford the cost of a light or two."

As he finished saying the words, a lamp was switched on across the room, illuminating two figures seated in old horse-hair chairs and one standing. Ivan had been dead for centuries, but his heart still dropped a little as he recognized the standing figure.

"We will be sure to ask your _community,"_ said Doom, "when we have occasion to speak to them about the results of your _consultation_ with them. It sounds as though it was most interesting."

"Yes," Wyndham agreed, lips pulling back from his teeth. "Seth has just been telling us how well you made our case." Standing next to Wyndham's chair, Herrick's former toady offered a spiteful grin. 

"Well, you know that democracy is the British way," Ivan replied, and was a little surprised to hear his voice sounding perfectly steady in his ears. 

"But not _my way,"_ said Doom, and rose to his feet. As he did so he extended his right hand. A bolt of light struck Ivan in the chest, enveloping him as he tried to struggle. 

His last lucid thought was, _Not such a clown after all._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** A lesson in natural history, and another in basic psychology. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Whump, but not of a Loki. In fact, this sort of isn’t a warning at all!

As Loki had previously noted, all serious conversations of the household were held in the kitchen. Given the hour, Annie decided this one should be accompanied by their belated evening meal. Accordingly, she retrieved a dish from the cold-storage box in the corner of the kitchen and set the food inside in the oven to heat. 

It was only when everyone (excepting Annie) was seated with a plate containing a portion of fowl meat and vegetables in pastry, that George and Mitchell related the story of their meeting with Ivan. Loki's body still craved food with what yet felt like hopeless desperation, and so he had little to offer in the early part of the discussion-- it was all he could do to pay attention to anything but the contents of his plate. 

Even so, he was aware of anxiety in the voices of the other three, as they talked over what Ivan had revealed. It was infectious enough to sour the pleasure of his meal, so he finally set down his fork to give them his full attention. 

"Ivan doesn't want any part of this, but he may not have any choice," Mitchell was saying. He turned to Loki, expression tentative. "He suggested you might want to hide out in Asgard for a bit, just until things calm down a little. It… might not be a bad idea. Thor would be glad to-- "

Loki resisted the temptation to throw the table over, exactly like his… like Thor, when he felt thwarted by circumstances. He restrained himself, partly because such action would accomplish nothing, and partly because there was no way to overturn the little table without hitting one of the creatures who sat around it. 

"No," he insisted, in a strangled voice. 

George leaned forward, his face earnest. "Nobody there will hurt you," he urged. "It's not the same Asgard, honestly. They-- " He broke off, awkwardly, before he could offer some assurance along the lines of _they love the Loki who belongs here, and will put up with you in consequence._

"No," Loki repeated, trying to make his voice strong as his nostrils filled with the remembered closeness and damp of the cell. His hands were gripping each other in his lap, working together, and he forced himself to let go and lay them flat on his thighs. "I will not-- " _I cannot._

"All right, it was only a suggestion," Mitchell said quickly. "We won't make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

_Uncomfortable._ Loki stifled a derisive snort. That was indeed one way to express it. 

"Anyway, as we were walking home from the park, Tony Stark called us," Mitchell went on. "He said Thor called him, just before he went back to Asgard, and filled him in on as much as he knew at the time. Agent Coulson's on his way over here with Dr. Strange right now, they should arrive in the morning. Strange is going to try and find our Loki, then set up some kind of magical portal so we can go through and get him." He glanced uneasily at Loki, and added, "He knows we're not making you go back. Strange is really powerful, he'll be able to figure something out."

Loki nodded, and forced himself to pick up his fork again even though the food on his plate now seemed a nauseous mess. Nearly all the names Mitchell uttered meant nothing to him, but the one that did--

George apparently remembered this was the wrong Loki, not the one they wanted, and began to offer an explanation:

"Tony Stark is a friend of ours. He and Thor-- well, they work together, I guess you'd say, to protect humans from, from danger, and-- "

"Yes," Loki said tightly. "I am… _acquainted_ with Tony Stark." 

The three friends exchanged a look, openly at a loss. Loki felt himself clench inward, willing himself to give away no more. It was more difficult than he would have imagined-- having successfully hidden his thoughts for many centuries, he had never realized the extent to which his success in so doing was, at least in part, due to the fact that in the past no one had much cared to look. 

"Well," Annie said, "Tony's pretty worried about, about both of you, and so are the rest of the Avengers." Loki stifled another bout of hysteria at the thought of exactly what shape that _worry_ should most reasonably take. Tender concern would certainly not form any part of it. 

Of course, _Thor's_ concern should not have encompassed plates of food, either, or offers to change anything that did not exactly suit Loki's palate. He was suddenly too tired to think about any of it.

"I don't think there's much else we can do tonight," Mitchell said awkwardly. "We'll see what Agent Coulson has to say in the morning, yeah?"

~oOo~

Loki faded noticeably as the evening went on. His complexion still held an unhealthy pallor anyway, like old ivory or newspaper, but the dark circles around his eyes had been less pronounced today. Now, as weakness and fatigue caught up with him again he lost the small amount of colour he'd gained from food and rest, and his bloodshot eyes showed up eerily in their bruised-looking sockets.

It was clear he wanted to hide his condition, but the fact he was unable to finish his meal drew Annie's attention-- he ate about a third of his chicken pie and only picked listlessly at the raspberries and pineapple that topped his serving of ice cream. He then sat at the table looking ill with exhaustion as the others washed up, but was unwilling to go into the lounge without them. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was worried about what they might talk about in his absence.

This Loki was easily as stubborn as theirs, but their Loki had his limits when he was sick or exhausted or both, and so did this one. When they were all seated in the lounge, later, he slumped at the end of the sofa he seemed to have claimed as his own. His eyes kept drifting shut, and Annie finally put her foot down. 

"If you fall asleep like that you're just going to end with a sore neck. If anything important happens I promise we'll wake you. Come with me," she ordered. Loki stumbled to his feet, blinking, and followed her upstairs without protest. Moments later George and Mitchell heard water rushing through the old pipes. Perhaps twenty minutes after that, Annie came stealing back downstairs. 

"I had the feeling he didn't want me to leave until he fell asleep," she explained quietly. "It didn't take very long." 

All of them felt a little guilty, since this was obviously exactly what Loki feared they would do, but it seemed necessary that they talk about him.

"I know we have enough to worry about already," George whispered, "but I have to say, I didn't much like that reaction of his when we mentioned Tony Stark." Annie bristled instinctively, and George flapped his hands at her. "Sorry, I meant… it was disturbing. I mean, it was pretty obvious he didn't have a good experience with the Tony _he_ knows."

"So that's Tony _and_ Thor," Mitchell enumerated. "Actually, he clenched up a little when we mentioned the Avengers, too. What are the chances _all_ of them are evil in his reality?"

"It could happen," George murmured. 

Annie, however, sat up straighter. "There was something in his mind, do you remember? Agnes found traces of, of some sort of control spell."

"Yes?" Mitchell prompted. 

Annie went on, "And when you were talking to Catherine and Agnes, after Catherine set that spell on him this morning-- I told him a little bit about our Loki. Just in case they had things in common. I told him that our Loki fell." She looked at the other two. "He started shaking-- trembling from the inside out, like he was freezing. So I asked him if he had fallen, too, and he nodded. And he was-- he was so upset, he was still trembling, just out of nowhere… so then I asked him if someone had found him." Annie's big dark eyes were wide as she considered what this might mean.

Mitchell and George looked at each other. George spoke first. "So you think-- you think maybe he fell under someone's control, and that other person made him do something? Commit a crime?"

"It would explain why Thor and the Avengers were angry at him," Annie pointed out. 

"It would also explain why he seemed to be a prisoner," Mitchell agreed. "Like Catherine said."

"How powerful would you have to be, to take control of someone like Loki?" George asked, voice dropping to a whisper. 

"It might depend on how weak he was after his fall," Annie pointed out. "Remember what our Loki was like when he got here-- I don't think that was all the cleansing spell, that made him so weak. I think some of it was the void." 

They were all thinking through the possibilities when Mitchell's mobile rang. Everyone jumped, then Mitchell controlled himself, glanced at the display of his mobile, and frowned. 

"Who is it?" George asked.

Mitchell shrugged. "Dunno. I don't know the number."

"Don't answer it!" Annie hissed. 

Mitchell rolled his eyes and connected the call. "Mitchell."

"Is Ivan with you?" asked a distinctively husky female voice. 

"Daisy?" 

_"Is Ivan with you?"_ Daisy repeated, in a tone that suggested that if her question wasn't answered right now, someone was apt to get bitten in the throat. 

"Of course not," Mitchell said. "That wasn't the plan." Infected by the anxiety in her voice, he asked, "How long has he been gone?"

"He left to speak to Wyndham right after we left the park." 

Mitchell winced. He and George had gotten home nearly three hours ago. "You don't think he stayed to have a drink?" he suggested foolishly. 

"No," Daisy snapped. "And he isn't answering his mobile."

Mitchell rubbed his forehead. "Did he say where he was planning to meet them?"

"No." All the fight seemed to drain out of Daisy's voice. "It was probably wherever they're staying, but he wouldn't tell me. I don't even know where to begin looking for him."

"I might be able to help there," Mitchell admitted. "I used to know some of the safe houses. I won't be able to go out tonight, though." There was an infuriated-- and, okay, also heartrending-- splutter on the other end of the line. Mitchell held firm. "I'm serious, Daisy. I can't stand up to Wyndham, and you'd be crazy to even try. They get in your head, the Old Ones. If you're in a room with him, he'll control you, and that won't help Ivan at all. I'll try to think of something tonight and get back to you in the morning." Silence on the other end of the line. "Daisy? Come on, Dais. Stay calm tonight, and I'll talk to you tomorrow after I've had time to think, okay?"

"Okay," Daisy agreed, in a choked little voice. Mitchell made a reassuring noise and ended the call. Then he looked at his two solemn friends. 

"Did you hear that?" he asked. George nodded, and Annie said, 

"Yes. I felt bad, knowing she's all alone."

"We're not inviting her over for the night," George said quickly. "I'm sorry, Mitchell, but I don’t think she's the kind of vampire you invite in."

"You have no idea," was Mitchell's heartfelt reply.

"I know we can't," Annie agreed, patting her lap to coax Scamp up. "But I feel sorry for her."

"I'm not arguing with either of you," Mitchell said. "I feel sorry for her too, but the one I'm worried about is Ivan. I can't imagine what's happened to him."

All three looked at each other, and they were almost certainly all thinking the same thing: it wasn't that they _couldn't_ imagine, it was that they didn't _want_ to. 

~oOo~

Tony said goodbye to Mitchell, disconnected the call and started to stuff his cell phone back into his pocket. On second thought, however, he punched up the number of Steve's place in Brooklyn. (Steve was possibly the last person Tony knew who had a landline, for the love of God, but if Steve wanted a telephone stuck to the wall in his brownstone flat, as far as Tony was concerned Steve would have a phone stuck to the wall.)

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steve, it's Tony." 

"Can you hang on a second? I need to turn down the record player. Stereo. Just a minute." There was a soft bump as Steve set down the receiver, and in the background Tony could hear:

_"Everything dies, baby, that's a fact,_   
_But maybe everything that dies someday comes back-- "_

"Hi again," Steve said as he picked up. "Is something going on?"

Distracted, Tony asked, "Are you seriously playing _Nebraska_ right now? You've got something against being cheerful?"

"It's a good record," Steve replied, his tone calmly undefensive.

"It's a miserable, gloomy record. Of course, it was recorded in a pretty depressing time in American history."

"Yes," Steve agreed. "And you know what else was a pretty depressing time in American history? _The Great Depression._ I think I can handle _Nebraska_. Now, what were you calling about?" 

Tony sighed. "It's a bit complicated. Thor called a little while ago to update me-- well, us-- on what's going on with Loki. Apparently Loki's-- not so much _disappeared_ again, as been bodysnatched and replaced with a different Loki. From, you know, some sort of alternate reality." There was a pause on the other end of the line. The pause stretched out until Tony said nervously, "Steve? You still there?"

"Yes," Steve replied. "Sorry, I was just wondering how on earth he manages to get himself into these situations."

"Okay, just so you know, in modern times we call that _blaming the victim_ and I should scold you for it. Which I will, just as soon as _I_ finish wondering how on earth he gets himself into these situations. Anyway, long story short, Thor also called Coulson, who thinks Dr. Strange can help. He-- Coulson-- called me to let me know they're on their way to Bristol right now. Thor's gone back to Asgard, to see what they can do from their end, and I called Mitchell to tell him about Coulson and see if they've learned anything else useful."

"And have they?"

"I think so. One of Mitchell's contacts in the vampire community told him Dr. Doom is involved."

"Doom? Really?"

"Yeah. I haven't told Coulson yet-- I think he's still holding a grudge after the mess in Scotland back in February. So that might be interesting."

"So how did the vampire know all this?"

"Well, apparently Doom has allies this time around."

"Damn," said Steve. "So I guess that means we're up?"

"Yeah," said Tony. "Which is the other reason I called. I assume Coulson probably talked to Fury before he left, but just to make sure, would you contact him? Fury? I have a feeling he'll take this better coming from you."

There was another silence on the other end of the line. 

"You know something, Tony, for a superhero you certainly are cowardly sometimes."

"I think the word you're looking for is _prudent,"_ Tony replied. "You talk to Fury, you're his favourite. Meanwhile, I'll track down Bruce and let him know."

"Fine."

~oOo~ 

It would have been child's play for Doom to track Loki down by magic, but Wyndham's new underling, Seth, already knew where the traitor John Mitchell dwelt, and this was where Loki would be. 

That knowledge notwithstanding, the two vampires still withdrew into the windowless cellar where Ivan was being held, and ensured he did not have any further information. This, at least, was their excuse. Doom dismissed this as an excuse, and their behaviour as spite, but he was great enough to be magnanimous to their whim-- so long as it made no difference to his plans. 

When they eventually emerged from the cellar Wyndham was still sleek, but his inferior was rumpled, his knuckles scraped raw. Doom did not ask in what condition they had left the prisoner-- he was of little interest to Doom, and would be disposed of as soon as the other two were finished with him.

"He's in a house on Windsor Terrace," Wyndham announced. 

"In Totterdown," his subordinate contributed, as though this meant anything. 

"Seth knows the way," Wyndham added. 

"Then we shall embark," said Doom. 

~oOo~

The houses were sleeping-silent as the servant-vampire led his master and Doom toward their goal. There were few streetlights, but a nearly-full moon shone over their heads and besides, all of them had excellent night vision. 

"It's the house on the corner, at the top of the terrace," explained the servant. "The pink one." 

Doom cared not whether the house was bright vermilion, nor cared he whether the human insects who dwelt in these houses knew he was there. He strode up the middle of the street, his cloak flying out behind him, toward the silent house at the top of the rise. 

He was perhaps three houses away from his objective when he felt a rush, as of magic converging. Directly in front of him and perhaps fifteen metres away, a boiling black whirlwind rose. Out of it, snorting and uttering a peculiar screaming bellow, came a colossal rhinoceros made of light. Illuminated from within, every detail of the beast was clear to Doom, from the great hooked forehorn on its nose to the hump rising from its neck, to the ridiculously tufted little tail raised in a preposterous curve over its back. 

Behind himself, Doom could hear the servant utter a cry of fear. Doom was unafraid of such tricks, threw up his hand in a gesture of dismissal, and a bolt of red light struck the illusory creature. 

It came to a plunging halt, half-rearing in a gesture that should have been impossible for a beast with such a massive head, and then pivoting lightly on its forehand with unexpected agility. Doom cast another bolt of magic. 

The rhinoceros shivered as its glow faded inward--

\-- and then boiled back up again, glimmering silvery-green. The vampires both cursed as, in a blink, there were suddenly _two_ rhinoceroses where previously there had been one. 

Behind his mask, Doom smiled.

"Quite impressive," he murmured, almost in approbation.

He began to walk forward. 

~oOo~

_He was falling, falling, falling, hands grasping uselessly for purchase on empty air, heart twisting in panic. He might have screamed, except the hand on his throat cut off all ability to speak. He was too frightened to breathe, so the tight choking grip on his throat was immaterial in that regard._

_Close to his face he was aware of the grim profile of his-- of Thor, flying, Mjolnir gripped in one hand and Loki's throat in the other, secure himself and utterly indifferent to the terror felt by his burden who could not fly, but could fall, had fallen already. Even through the power that bound his will he hated Thor for that, for not seeing, not caring, not considering he was the one who could fly and if he let go (again) Loki would fall and fall--_

_Thor's face turned toward his, lip curled in contempt, Thor could see the fear and it disgusted him, and suddenly he was letting go-- no, throwing, casting away, and Loki tried to scream--_

_\--and his back struck rock as Thor landed on top of him--_

"Loki!" Annie's urgent whisper cut through the dream. Loki flailed uselessly under the covers and then came awake, breathing harshly and drenched in sweat-- although the wetness on his cheeks might have been something other than sweat. 

Annie laid a hand on his brow, leaning forward in concern, and his gasping breaths came easier, smoothing out. 

"It was a dream," Annie crooned, stroking his tangled hair. She did not say _only_ a dream. 

"Yes," Loki managed to reply. "A dream."

Annie's cool hand was gentle on his hair, and it calmed him a little. "I promised I'd wake you if anything important happened, remember?" Loki nodded. "Something's up, in the street outside. I've woken the boys, do you want to come?"

"Yes." He was pushing back the bedclothes as he spoke, filled with ridiculous memories-- old memories, centuries ago-- of wishing to be invited, included, not an afterthought or left behind to catch up if he could. Annie had called the others first, but she had _remembered_ him, had come on purpose to fetch him. 

It was ridiculous, childish, to be so warmed by the thought, but warmed he was nevertheless. 

"Here, put this on, the house is cold," Annie was saying, bundling the warm dressing gown toward him, and a pair of soft slippers. Loki had certainly been colder, but he chose not to think of that, and instead accepted the clothing. A moment later he was creeping down the hall behind Annie, to where two dark shapes crouched before a window.

"What's happening now?" Annie whispered as they approached.

"Rhinoceros firefight," Mitchell whispered back, incomprehensibly. 

"There's someone in the street-- I think it must be Doom-- trying to get past the rhino charm," George explained, edging aside to give Loki room to look. Loki knelt between the two men and peered through the window.

The first thing that struck him was the nearly visible curtain of sorcery that enveloped the street. Loki's own powers were at such a low ebb that he sensed less than he normally would, but the curtain of magic before him now was almost tangible, and clearly meant to mask the activity within it from the sight and senses of ordinary mortals. As little as he liked this other Loki, the one everyone preferred, he had grudgingly to admit that, if he had set this spell, he was clearly a sorcerer of no mean ability. 

Within the ring of power stood a tall caped figure with a hood drawn up over his head. He turned unhurriedly, hands extended as though to cast a bolt of magic, in spite of his position looking more on the attack then defensive. 

Circling him at an incongruously light-footed trot-- a gait suited more to a lady's hack than such a ponderous, mountainous beast as this-- was the monster that had attacked Loki in the street. 

_One_ such monster: a moment later another trotted forward, feinted at the caped figure with its horn, then retreated to stand before the front steps of the little house. 

"What are they doing?" Loki whispered. 

"Protecting the house," Annie whispered back. "Remember I told you about the spell to protect children? He's set the same one around the house." 

"Pity he didn't think to set a spell against other spells, instead of just physical incursions," George remarked, and then winced and looked guiltily at the Loki who had been inflicted on them in place of their friend. 

"I suppose he was remembering what things were like when he was a kid, and he set those spells to keep Thor and his pals out of his rooms," Annie suggested. She petted Loki's shoulder. "Did you ever do that?" she asked. 

"I?" Loki replied, startled. "No, why would I? We were-- " He broke off, stopping himself before he could utter some idiocy.

_We were friends._ He had thought so, a long time ago. The least favoured of the group, yes, but still their friend, if one whose presence was neither required nor always welcome. 

_The more fool he._ Brushing aside the thought, he leaned forward again to look into the street-- in time to see the caped figure-- this Doom, surely?-- cast a bolt of magic at the capering mountain before him. The creature shivered. Its light drew inward, concentrating more than dimming-- 

\-- and then there were two monsters-- _rhinoceroses--_ in the street, circling Doom in opposite directions. One of them-- Loki thought it was the original, but it was hard to say when they were identical right down to the scimitar-like curve of the longer of the horns on their noses-- broke into a canter. Once again, the brute was astonishingly light on its feet. 

"Wow," Mitchell exclaimed in admiration, and Loki himself felt almost a sensation of pride in the other Loki's command of magic. He and the others watched as Doom spun, attempting to face both beasts at once. The cantering one ducked inward, dropping its shoulder like a recalcitrant horse refusing to bend in a corner, and crashed into Doom, knocking him nearly off his feet. The sorcerer staggered back a step before recovering his balance and spinning deasil and widdershins to keep the beasts under his eye. 

Loki had almost forgotten the third rhinoceros, but when two human-shaped figures emerged from the shadows behind Doom and broke toward the house, the third creature charged forward with head lowered, and forced them to beat a hasty retreat. 

At the same moment a commotion broke out in the darkened ground floor of the little house, baying and snarling that shook the walls. 

Mitchell looked at Annie with a little smile. "I was wondering when she'd get in on the action. Should we set the dog on them?" he asked. 

The _dog?_ The little black creature with the curly, wagging tail?

Annie nodded. "I'll go," she said, and vanished. The furious barking subsided a little, was interspersed with urgent whines, and then Loki heard the door open. 

A huge black shape rushed out of the dwelling and into the street, snarling and roaring like the boarhounds of Asgard crossed with the ice beast of Jotunheim. The two creeping shapes that had fallen back before the rhinoceros now turned tail and frankly fled down the steep street-- just as Doom attempted another working, one that wavered and shimmered in the air, clearly something different from the one he had tried a moment before. 

There was a flash as the new spell struck the rhinoceroses-- and then there were four of them, each as large as the next, each shaking its own horned head in threat. Up to now the beasts had seemed intent upon merely blocking Doom's advance, but, as if sensing he would not retreat, one of the pivoted neatly on a forefoot and, head lowered, charged at Doom. The man barely scrambled out of the way. He had little time to recover before the next rhinoceros plunged toward him. Doom cast up a shield of magic, and the rhinoceros struck it at full speed. 

The magic within the shield flashed backward at its creator, knocking him off his feet. At the same time, the black hell-hound, having given up its pursuit of the other two-- or, perhaps, having finished them off-- came raging back. 

Doom visibly conceded defeat-- made a little bow toward the house and, with rather admirable composure, strode away down the street. The rhinoceroses let him go. One of them lowered its head and shook it, and then all the beasts stood looking down the street after their vanquished adversary. 

A moment or two later, the entire group glowed up brightly, was consumed in light, and then vanished. 

The all heard the door open again, heard Annie's voice call softly, "Scamp! Come here, girl!"

Out on the street, the huge black hellhound melted away, diminishing the way a shadow does when the sun rises high in the sky. A small black shape, tail wagging, dashed back toward the house.

A moment later Annie, with the little black dog in her arms, appeared next to Loki.

"Whew!" Mitchell exhaled sharply, and smiled at her. "Good work, Scamp."

"Good work by your Loki," Loki admitted, with a little less reluctance than would have been the case only a few hours ago. "You may be worrying without cause," he said, and then added with a curious upsurge of hope, "One of his abilities-- he may be able to rescue himself from his predicament without assistance."

Annie's smile shone brightly, and a weight shifted within his chest. 

"Let's hope you're right," she said. 

~oOo~

Loki glanced up as the cell door opened. When the stocky uniformed man stepped inside Loki, sitting on the cot, instinctively tried to shuffle farther back into the corner. He did not know this man, but that meant nothing when there were so many things he could not remember. 

The man glanced over his shoulder at the faceless black creature that stood in the doorway behind him. He spoke with calm authority:

"We're okay here. You can leave us, I'm sure someone's monitoring the cameras in case anything happens."

"Sir," the creature said, in its metallic voice. The voice sounded familiar to Loki, but he was too tired and confused to try to imagine why. 

The door closed, and the uniformed man took another step forward. Loki's back pressed into the wall, and the man stopped. 

"Loki? My name is Sam Dunlap. I'm a doctor, I bandaged your shoulder earlier." Loki slowly turned his head to look at his left shoulder, then back at the uniformed man. "I understand some people have been asking you questions about what happened here in New York?"

Loki started to nod, but his head pounded a warning and he stopped. Instead, he whispered, 

"Yes."

The uniformed man, Dunlap, nodded. He was carrying a satchel, and now he opened it and produced a bottle of water. Loki looked at it with longing, fidgeting his hands together as he waited for more questions. At the same time, the sight of the water made him feel deeply uneasy, although he was not sure why. 

Dunlap twisted the top off the bottle-- there was a crackling sound as the seal broke-- and stepped forward.

"Here," he said calmly. "Drink this slowly, okay? You don't want to get sick."

Loki's hands were shaking, but he kept control over the bottle and drank a long swallow. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat. Dunlap reached forward and Loki jerked back, forgetting about the wall and hitting his head quite hard. He clung to the bottle regardless, and Dunlap raised his hand as if in apology.

"Sorry, I'm not taking it. Just, go slow. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki replied automatically. Dunlap squatted down by the door, which was reassuring.

"I don't have a lot of time, and I have a couple of questions of my own," the man said. Loki fidgeted with the bottle, took another sip, and waited. Dunlap glanced back at the door, and then said, "You led the attack on New York, is that right?"

_New York_ sounded familiar, but once again it was difficult to remember why. Still, the question held its own answer. Loki knew what to do. 

"Yes," he said. It was easier to speak, now his throat was not so dry. 

"And you murdered a friend of mine named Phil Coulson," Dunlap went on. 

Loki's throat went tight as the face rose in his mind. He could not, not possibly have--

"You killed him, didn't you?" Dunlap insisted, and Loki gave in. 

"Yes."

"And you controlled the Chitauri?"

"Yes." Loki drank more of the water, nervously clutching the bottle. 

Dunlap glanced over his shoulder again, as though he might be waiting for someone to come in. 

"Okay, I'm nearly finished here. Just a couple more question. Okay?" 

"Okay," Loki agreed. His head hurt less, now, and he ventured a nod. 

Dunlap leaned confidentially forward. "Where did you get the Balrog?"

Loki blinked, clutching nervously at the bottle. The word was familiar-- he was sure he had heard it somewhere, but he could not place it. He had no idea how to answer the question. 

Fortunately, Dunlap spoke with quiet authority: "You got him from the caverns at the roots of the earth, isn't that right?"

Loki felt his shoulders relax. "Yes," he agreed, relieved. "From, from there."

"Thought so," Dunlap said cheerfully. "Drink up, I'm nearly finished. One more question: can you tell me where the Nazgul came from?" 

"Where the--?" Loki repeated, stalling for time.

"Come on, now, you must remember that." Dunlap waited, and Loki tried desperately to think. After a moment, Dunlap helped him. "Did they come from the realm of shadows?"

"Yes," Loki agreed, without hesitation. 

Dunlap stood up, smiling. "Thank you, Loki. That's all I need from you." He turned toward the door and knocked.

The door opened, and there was a short, angry-looking man on the other side. He looked familiar-- at the sight of this man, Loki tried to back away, though he could not remember why he was afraid. 

The stocky uniformed man was not afraid. "Goodbye, Loki," he said calmly, and stepped out of the cell. 

Left alone, Loki drank the rest of his water. 

~oOo~

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

If Barton was angry, Fury was-- well, _furious._ Romanov leaned against the wall, her attention divided between the conversation and the other Avengers. Rogers thought she probably had an idea of the cracks that were forming within the team. 

Dunlap seemed unfazed by the director's anger. 

"I wanted to test a theory," he said calmly. 

Fury's nostrils flared. "A _theory."_

"Yes. You've been questioning him about his supposed plans for another attack on Earth. I asked him about the attack he's already led."

"And?" Fury demanded.

"And I got him to agree he brought Ringwraiths and a Balrog with him, the first time." Looking around, Dunlap explained, "They're creatures from Tolkien. They don't exist. And, understandably, he had no idea what I was talking about-- until I _told_ him what I supposedly believed. I framed it as questions, but it was really me telling him what I wanted him to say, and him saying it."

"And what was the point of that?" Barton demanded.

"The point is, he's so suggestible right now he'll agree to any leading question, no matter how ridiculous. I suggest you go back over your interview footage with a more critical eye. I'd be willing to bet most of the information you think you got from him is useless." Dunlap turned to the guards who stood between himself and the door. "If you're arresting me, you might as well go ahead."

"Stand down," Fury addressed the guards. Then he turned wearily to Dunlap. "And you, get out of my sight."

"Sir," said Dunlap, with a jerk of his head, and marched out of the conference room.

There was a long pause. Finally, Rogers asked, 

"And what are we going to do with _that?"_


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Okay, folks, new plan. You may have noticed that I try to keep all chapters within any given story to around the same length. This one has had relatively long chapters, because I do try to check in with both realities as we go along. For various real-life reasons, I may have less time and energy to write in the next few weeks. So the new plan is to write shorter chapters and post them on more or less the same schedule as ever, rather than longer chapters at much longer intervals. We'll see how that goes. _
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, apologies that this is another transitional chapter. It's necessary to get to the next bit._
> 
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> _**Warnings:** None needed._

There was no going back to sleep after a pitched magical battle in the street, and so none of the members of the household tried. At the same time, no one seemed anxious to repair to their sanctuary in the kitchen: apparently, the darkness at the foot of the stairs held no allure at the moment. George's bedchamber was the closest to where they all stood, and that was where they all retreated. George smoothed the coverlet on his narrow bed and they all sat together, a motley-looking collection of beings in sleepwear-- or undergarments-- and dressing gowns, except for Annie in her gray sweater and black leggings, sitting tailor-fashion up by the pillows. 

For some time no one spoke. Scamp the dog snuggled into Annie's lap, then the two little black-and-white cats appeared from somewhere and took up station between George and Loki. Despite being quite sure their choice was made on the basis of who in the group possessed body heat, Loki found the gesture somehow comforting. 

Mitchell, meanwhile, had sat upon a book with a bright paper cover, and leaned over Loki to place it on the bedside table. _Men At Arms_ was its title, which seemed a strange tome for George to be reading. However, on closer inspection it did not seem to be a treatise on soldiering. Its cover depicted strange, mutated beings in outlandish armour, and beneath the title was the smaller legend, _A Discworld Novel._

 _Novel_ was, of course, a word known to Loki, but only as a descriptor. Novel _what?_

George caught Loki peering, and smiled tiredly. "I was just rereading that. You're welcome to borrow it, if you want to." 

Loki had not in fact been wanting any such thing, but the offer to _lend_ the book was attractive on its own terms. He nodded, then slipped the fat little text into a pocket of his dressing-gown. 

"So," Mitchell said finally. "That was Dr. Doom." 

"Who do you suppose were the two guys with him?" George asked. "Wyndham for one, I guess."

Mitchell shrugged. "Must have been, although I didn't get a good look at either of them. The other one-- I suppose a few of the vampires still think Herrick had the right idea and are willing to throw in with Doom no matter what Ivan says. And besides, if Ivan's out of the picture it's possible some of them will just gravitate toward whoever seems to be in charge." Catching sight of Loki's doubtful-- and perhaps disapproving-- expression, Mitchell shrugged. "I know, I know: they think they're so superior to humans, and yet they allow themselves to be led. The important word is _think._ They see humans as… insects, or something. Insignificant. That's probably one of the reasons they've never managed to pull off any of their grand schemes, when you think of it: they keep underestimating the humans, and the humans keep surprising them."

Loki's breath caught in his chest. 

_You will draw and hold the attention of their defenders, make them concentrate their efforts and their anger on you and your troops, leaving the Tesseract to us._

A _decoy._ Once prince-- once _king_ \-- of Asgard, and reduced to nothing but _bait,_ a goat tied to a stake. He had _told_ them as much, told the arrogant Stark _("…you've managed to piss off every single one of them" "That was the plan")_ and the braggart had missed the hint entirely, had taken the showy advance troops for the real threat. 

And yet, despite giving every appearance of believing the army was truly Loki's and under Loki's control-- despite his best efforts to hold their attention, to focus their ire on him and only him--

Despite all that, the humans-- _not_ Thor, _not_ the prince who should have learned _tactics_ in his long life as a warlord, but the _humans_ \-- had managed to find ways to subvert the Tesseract's power, to destroy the mother ship and the main army with it, to close the portal. 

They had not, of course, captured the real leader of the attack, but that was immaterial: the figurehead would do just as well in terms of punishment. And with the portal closed, a new way would have to be found to come through if the Other and his master still wished it, and that might take centuries. Even with the connection between their minds broken, and the control with it, Loki knew this was a significant defeat for his erstwhile masters. And with the Tesseract now removed from Midgard, there was little reason for their further interest in the realm.

The humans had won. The Other, and whoever had pulled the Other's strings-- Loki had known there was a power behind him, even writhing in agony with his mind disintegrating he had been aware of that much-- had underestimated them, and so had been defeated. It was not at all difficult to imagine the vampires making the same error in judgement. 

"Loki?" George's voice was high-pitched, the way it became when he felt anxious. Loki blinked, glanced around to see three worried faces-- four, if you counted the dog-- looking at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," he replied dismissively. He took a quick breath, exhaled through his nose, and turned to Mitchell. "So these vampires believe themselves a superior race, and yet willingly fall behind those who claim leadership, is that so?" Mitchell might speak as though this was unexpected, but the example of his-- of Thor, and Thor's boon companions who rushed headlong into folly at his heels, had left Loki perfectly able to believe that both supreme arrogance and subservience might exist within the same being. 

"Some of them will," Mitchell agreed. "I very much doubt all of them, or even necessarily very many, will join Doom." At Loki's raised eyebrow, the vampire shrugged. "I don't know what your Asgard is like, but the one we know is a place that values the open charge into battle. Vampires aren't like that. We've mostly been solitary predators-- it's not normal for us to group together, we're not _team players_ by nature, and we've always been outnumbered. Over the centuries, we've developed the habit of stealth, and it's a hard one to get over. I expect a lot of the local vampires will quietly drop out of sight until things are settled one way or the other. Especially since, unlike Herrick, Wyndham won't necessarily know where to find everyone before they get out of town."

Loki considered. His-- _Thor--_ would sneer at such a course of action, but Loki was hardly inclined to see prudence as a flaw. 

Particularly not when it worked to his own benefit. 

Mitchell went on, "That, of course, doesn't mean we're not in a load of trouble. Now that Doom's had a look at the rhino charm I'm sure he's already working on how to get around it, so there's no guarantee it'll work again. And Doom's also tangled with the Avengers and some of the other superheroes of this realm-- and fought them to a draw-- _without_ allies. I'm a little concerned about what might happen if he brings in his Doombots, and all."

Loki had no idea whatsoever what a _Doombot_ might be, but he had little difficulty believing it was something he would prefer not to meet in his present condition. 

Before he, or any of the others, could think of anything else to say, from downstairs there came a knocking at the door.

Annie shrieked and clutched at Loki before she remembered he was the wrong one. Even at that, she did not release his arm. Meanwhile, George and Mitchell did not quite cling to one another, but it was a very near thing. 

"Who's _that?"_ George squeaked, a piece of idiocy the others managed to ignore. 

_"I_ don't know," Mitchell retorted. "You should go see."

 _"Me?"_ George very nearly shrieked. "Why should _I_ go?"

"Because-- because-- " Mitchell seemed for once at a loss for words. 

The knock was repeated. Loki-- who after all had reason to believe that, whatever was at the door, he had experienced a great deal worse-- did not scream, but he was the only one of them who refrained. 

Scamp wriggled impatiently, then jumped off Annie's lap and hurried out the door, her plumy tail wagging. The two little cats trotted after her. A moment later, they could hear Scamp barking at the door. 

Only barking, mind. Not baying, or snarling, or in any way sounding like the guardian of some pit of hellfire. Her voice was that of a small, excited dog, yapping and occasionally letting out a whine or snuffle as though she was applying her nose to the bottom of the door. There was no sound from the little cats, but they had run after the dog. Since their usual inclination when alarmed seemed to be to dart underneath the nearest large item of furniture, it appeared they were not frightened. 

"That can't be a vampire," George stated the obvious. 

"It must be someone she knows," Annie added, releasing Loki and scrambling to her feet. Recognizing her intent, Loki also stood, and the other two with him. The fat little book in his dressing gown pocket bumped against Loki's hip as he followed them down the stairs to the front entrance.

Scamp was by now dancing on her hind legs, scratching silently at the door with her ghostly paws, while the two little cats paraded back and forth, tails in the air. George picked up the cats to prevent them dashing out the door, and Mitchell opened it. 

"Hi!" he exclaimed in pleasure, and stepped back to reveal three figures standing in the entrance.

Loki, still in the stairwell, gripped the banister in sudden, inexplicable panic. 

"Good morning," boomed Thor, but it was not Thor whose presence was causing him such unease. 

"Nice to see you again," said a slender, dark-haired man in sober garb, as he stepped forward with Thor. 

"And we're _really_ glad to see you," Mitchell replied, holding out a hand in welcome. 

Loki realized he was still holding the banister as if he would tear it from the wall, and forced his hand to open. Down below, Mitchell and the others were ushering the new arrivals into the room they called _the lounge._ The two little cats hurried after them, pouncing at Thor's cape as though it was an established game.

Scamp turned as though to follow-- and certainly she was generally Annie's shadow-- but then paused at the foot of the stairs to look up at Loki. Her ears flattened in an uneasy gesture and her tail was held low as she wagged it. It looked as though the little creature was trying to offer him comfort. 

Loki exhaled carefully through his nose, and came carefully down the stairs. 

~oOo~

It was, of course, no coincidence that had Thor arrive on the doorstep at the same moment as Agent Coulson. It was to be expected, since they had traveled part of the way together: Heimdall, seeing the agent arrive in London, where he reported to SHIELD, had sent Thor to meet him. The benefit of arriving by Bifrost in such a large city as London was that, as in New York, there were already so many strange things happening that a little matter such as a whirlwind of light could go almost unnoticed. 

Having made his whereabouts known to SHIELD's London office (he was nothing if not punctilious, and of course having been made to disappear once, he was perhaps more than ever inclined to be careful) Coulson acquired a car from the agency. He was, unsurprisingly, quite as comfortable driving in England as America. 

As they sped toward Bristol, Thor told the others what he had learned in Asgard. 

"I would have preferred to leave these wretched things to be smelted down into platters," Thor said, indicating the sack of iron at his feet, "but my mother felt certain-- "

"Your mother is quite right," Strange assured him, as he studied the closely-written sheet of parchment Thor had given him. "It certainly appears this spell will work as she suggests. Particularly on a site of power, with the aid of the witches Coulson has referred to."

"And is there a site of power available to you?" Thor asked. 

"Glastonbury Tor, I'm guessing," Agent Coulson suggested. In the back seat, Dr. Strange smiled. 

"Very good, Agent Coulson. If we can get there by dawn, that will be even better."

"I hope your friends the witches are early risers," Coulson remarked to Thor. 

Thor smiled. "As do I." The smile faded as he added, "You asked me to… make inquiries of my father. About the cleansing spell on my brother."

"Yes?"

As completely as possible, Thor related all his father had told him of the spell and its effects. Coulson, his eyes scrupulously on the road before him, nodded occasionally but gave no sign of surprise. When the story was told, Thor remarked on the fact. 

"You knew what my answer would be," he said. 

Coulson shrugged. "I suspected. I did figure, based on things he's said about the circumstances of his… adoption… and your early childhood, that he probably got angry at a pretty young age. Certainly the way he behaved during his psychotic break suggested there was more than three days' worth of anger at work, and of course if that was true it had to be all tangled up in everything else about him. The rest of it-- "

"You really do watch the television program about the nanny who rescues families, do you not?" Thor said. "That is not a jest."

Coulson smiled briefly. "I find it very interesting, how many issues raised on that show can be applied to adults as well. Anyway, though, just observing your brother, especially since the Dire Wraith thing… particularly the ways he relates to you... It made me wonder." Coulson glanced at Thor sideways, although the interior of the car was so dark it was impossible to see his expression. "It's not just me. You've probably noticed that most of the time Stark treats Loki like _his_ little brother." 

Thor said nothing. On its face, of course, the whole thing was ridiculous: his brother was nearly a thousand Midgardian years old, and neither Coulson nor Stark could be as much as fifty. That being said, however, even Thor was aware of occasions when he turned to these humans, or to Erik Selvig, for advice or counsel. 

Coulson, his eyes firmly fixed on the dark road before him, went on quietly,

"Your brother is a real asset to the Avengers. But that not's the only reason we're anxious to get him back."

Thor nodded, and the rest of the trip to Bristol was accomplished in silence.

Coulson had visited Loki's home on at least two occasions, and so he knew the neighbourhood. Rather than pulling up Windsor Terrace, he parked in a public space on the nearest edge of Victoria Park and consulted the time on his cell phone. 

"We made better time than I expected," he noted. "I feel a bit bad about waking them up at this hour, but if we're going to get to Glastonbury Tor by sunrise-- "

"I feel sure they will forgive us," Thor murmured, as he let himself out of the passenger door of the car. The three walked around the corner and up the hill toward the little house at the top of the terrace. 

"Ugh," Strange remarked suddenly, looking around with a fastidious expression and then turning to Thor. "Can you sense that?" 

"Sense what?" asked Coulson, his expression becoming, if possible, even more alert. Even as he spoke, however, he rolled his shoulders uneasily. Thor, meanwhile, sniffed tentatively. 

"I believe, now that you are speaking of it… ordinarily, I cannot sense magic in the way my brother does, but just now-- "

Agent Coulson nodded, which should have been surprising since he was a human without magical powers. Being Agent Coulson, however, it would have surprised Thor a great deal more if he had not sensed anything. 

"Whatever it is must be pretty powerful if even I can sense something," he noted. 

Strange, who had stopped walking, nodded. "It certainly is that."

"My brother has laid enchantments around the city," Thor explained, watching the human sorcerer closely. "I believe those near his home are very powerful. Could that be what you are sensing?"

"I didn't notice anything the last time I was here," Coulson noted. "Do you know if he's strengthened them recently?"

"If he did, he did not tell me so," Thor admitted. 

Strange resumed walking briskly up the terrace. "That being the case, we may surmise that what we are sensing is the result of these enchantments being triggered. Which means we have little time to waste."

Thor had a reputation for being fearless, but the sensation in his chest as he knocked upon the front door of his brother's home was rather as though he had run the whole distance from London. The pounding in his ears worsened when there was no response. Reminding himself of the lateness of the hour did nothing to reassure him: considering the nature of Loki's protective enchantments, one would expect the household had been awakened and would probably still be on the alert. 

He knocked again, restraining himself with difficulty from simply removing the door from its hinges. Finally, to his relief, he heard the welcoming voice of the little ghost dog who guarded the home from the inside. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a relieved-looking Mitchell.

"Hi!" he exclaimed, and ushered them inside. 

~oOo~

Under some circumstances, the story of what Mitchell persistently referred to as the "rhinoceros firefight" might have been very amusing. These were not those circumstances. 

"The rhinos saw him off this time," Mitchell wrapped up his story, "but they were originally intended to guard against supernatural beings who don't have magic of their own. We're worried that Doom's going to be able to work out a way around the spell. Without our-- with one Loki missing," he corrected himself smoothly, without glancing at the rigid figure at the far end of the sofa, "and the other one's powers at a pretty low ebb right now, we don't have anyone who can adapt the spell to stay ahead of him."

Thor cast a quick glance at Loki's mask-like face, trying very hard not to remember his brother wearing that same expression. 

"Perhaps Dr. Strange can assist," he suggested.

"I think the best thing to do is get you all out of here," Coulson spoke up. "Doom's not stupid, and he's very determined. I wouldn't put it past him to level the street to get at you."

The three housemates exchanged looks of distress, including Loki apparently out of habit, since he gave no sign of interest. Although, of course, when Thor's brother wore that expression, it generally indicated a great deal more going on under the surface than he was willing to show.

Dr. Strange looked around with an expression of calm interest. "The idea is worth considering. You should do so. And now, perhaps, we should contact your friends the witches."

~oOo~

The first light of dawn was just beginning to paint a faint pink on the horizon, behind the ruined tower that was all that was left of an ancient church. Dr. Strange and the two witches-- who had turned up looking remarkably alert, considering the hour-- were engulfed in a warm golden light that somehow did not cast their shadows on the dew-wet grass of the Tor. 

Loki, sitting with the housemates, looked on with something like longing. His own powers were still dormant within him, not so much bound as still recovering, and he would have given a great deal-- if he had it-- for even the wretched sceptre that had tied him to the voice of the Other, but had permitted him the use of a little limited magic--

The golden light faded, and Dr. Strange was walking back toward the spectators. 

"We've located him," he said calmly. Loki felt his chest constrict, not least because of the little gasp of relief Annie uttered at the words. Strange smiled faintly at her, then turned to the dark-haired man whose name was Coulson. "We can open a portal, but for safety's sake it won't be possible to leave it open. The best option is to send some sort of amulet with you, that you can use to open it again once you've got him back. I'll ensure it comes out in a safe place. All right?"

Coulson nodded. "All right."

"You should not go alone," Thor suggested.

"No, probably not," Coulson agreed. "But, Thor, I don't think you're the best choice to go. I have a feeling the less attention we call in the other reality, the better."

"Calls for stealth, you mean?" Mitchell asked, from where he sat on the damp grass. 

"That seems to make sense."

Mitchell nodded. "Right. Well, then, I think I'm the vampire for the job."

Coulson's smile was a few degrees warmer as he nodded. "Good idea."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Stealth only takes you so far.
> 
> Alas, no sooner do I promise to try and get chapters out on a normal rotation when my back goes out and I end up writing while on painkillers and lying on the floor. Seriously, this past six months… 
> 
> Another transitional chapter, to get us to a point that actual plotty stuff (and rescues) can happen. 
> 
> **Warnings:** A tiny misuse of a historic site. Let's just go with it, okay?

Strange had confirmed that Loki was on the helicarrier, and he had been unable to sense Coulson anywhere on the ship. Coulson could work with that. They left Strange and the witches on the Tor, working out spells to control the portal. Back at the house, Mitchell went upstairs to collect a change of clothing for Loki, who had to be tired of pyjamas by now. Agent Coulson, in the meantime, went out into the garden to make some calls on his mobile. Within about twenty minutes he returned to the front room.

"Okay," he said, "I spoke to Tony Stark, and he's agreed to send a plane to collect the three of you-- " he nodded to Annie, George, and Loki-- "to take you to Scotland. He has a house there," Coulson explained to Loki, "which seems like a safer place for you, since Doom's probably already working on how to get around the rhino charm."

"But won't he be able to find us anyway?" George asked. 

"Yes," Coulson admitted. "Eventually. But the thing is, if you stay here he might level the whole neighbourhood trying to get to you." Annie and George flinched. Loki, sitting at the end of the sofa with a stiff, blank expression, leaned back a little. Coulson went on, "Tony's got security." 

"That sounds like a good idea," George said quickly, and Annie nodded. 

"There's one more thing," Coulson went on. "Which I know is intrusive, but I'm a spy and this is what I do. George, I've heard a rumour that you're seeing someone?" George opened his mouth, but his red face and ears answered for him. Taking pity on him, Coulson went on calmly, "Considering the situation, I think it would be smart for you to either ask her to go with you, or for us to put security on her, just in case." He paused. "I think it would be safer for her to accompany you, actually. I get the impression the vampires keep a pretty close eye on what goes on in this house, so it's very likely they know about her already." 

George opened his mouth, closed it, and finally spluttered, "Tomorrow is the full moon." 

"There's that outbuilding," Annie spoke up. "The one you changed in before."

"Suppose you three go ahead, and Agent Romanov collects-- ?"

"Nina," George supplied. "She might take some convincing."

"Natasha is pretty convincing," Annie pointed out. "And Nina knows that you work with-- you know." Coulson observed her glance at Loki uneasily and made a mental note. "Oh!" Annie squeaked.

"Yes?" Coulson asked. 

"What about the school? Loki's school?" she asked. "I mean, if Doom figures out how to get around the rhinoceros spell, and the vampires are in a spiteful kind of mood-- ?"

"Barton's going to cover for Loki," Coulson explained.

_"Barton?"_ George and Annie chorused, and Loki's expression sharpened. 

"Are you sure that's-- ?" Annie began, delicately.

"Safe? He knows he's not allowed to kill the children, if that's what you mean," Coulson replied tolerantly. "I think we can trust his judgement there."

"He hasn't met Patrick and Trevor yet," George murmured. 

"I'm suddenly more worried about the teachers," Annie admitted. 

Just at that, Mitchell came clattering down the stairs. His hair was slicked back, he was clad in the black suit he had once worn to impersonate a SHIELD agent, and was carrying a briefcase. 

"Everything fit in there?" Coulson asked, nodding at the briefcase. 

"Even a pair of shoes and his toothbrush," Mitchell replied. 

"Perfect. I had better carry that," Coulson said. "Wherever they've got him, we can expect security cameras."

"Did you pack anything for his flu?" Annie fussed. Mitchell looked guilty. Annie made a _tsking_ noise and vanished. A moment later she reappeared, handing Mitchell a bottle of pills and a small plastic bottle of clear fluid.

"What's that for?" Mitchell asked. 

"You," Annie replied. "Or Agent Coulson, anyway. It's hand sanitizer, you know, to protect you. In case he's still really germy."

"That's romantic of you," Mitchell rebuked. 

"Well, we don't want Agent Coulson to get sick while he's trying to rescue Loki," Annie argued, and then looked a little horrified at herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like-- I mean, I don't want you to get sick either."

"That's the mission," Coulson pointed out. And then, because he liked Annie, he smiled as he tucked the little bottle into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Don't worry. We'll bring him back safely."

Eyes suddenly wet, Annie nodded. 

~oOo~

In deference to Loki's anxieties, he and Annie stayed at the house while the others drove back to Glastonbury Tor. It was by now afternoon, and in the interest of avoiding notice the portal was going to be opened inside the ruined tower. George and Thor let the two travellers out at the foot of the Tor, and together they walked up to the tower.

Dr. Strange, Agnes, and Catherine had marked a circle on the stone floor, with other shapes outside at the cardinal directions. Strange turned as Coulson and Mitchell came in.

"Are you ready?" Strange asked. 

"We are," Coulson agreed. 

"Good. Give me your cell phone," Strange requested, extending his hand. Coulson handed it over, Strange folded his long hands around it and murmured something. A moment later, a glow shone between his fingers, illuminating his face in the odd half-light of the roofless tower. Strange closed his eyes, the glow faded, and a moment later he was handing the device back, directing Agent Coulson's attention to a new icon on the screen. "When you've found Loki, you can use this to open the portal. All you have to do is press it-- "

"No clicking our heels and saying _there's no place like home?"_ Mitchell asked nervously. 

Strange smiled. "I could certainly add such a modification if you wish."

"That won't be necessary," Coulson said firmly, confirmed how to use the magical app, then pocketed the phone and picked up the briefcase. 

"Very well," Strange nodded. "Loki is in a cell on confinement level three. Also, remember, there is no sign of a presence like yours on the helicarrier. It is, of course, possible that you do not exist in this other reality, but be alert to the possibility that whoever you meet there may expect an explanation."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Coulson murmured. 

"I have every confidence," Strange agreed. He turned to Mitchell. "Ready?"

"Sure," Mitchell agreed. Strange and the two witches moved back to the markings on the floor and took up stations.

A few moments later, a glowing portal opened before them.

Coulson and Mitchell stepped through-- 

\-- and then they were walking down a silent steel-grey corridor, while behind them the light closed in on itself. 

Based on his experiences with Loki's magic, Coulson was hopeful that some kind of glamour had flowed out of the portal, just long enough to make the security cameras simply not notice their arrival. However, you still had to hold up your end, and so Coulson made a point of striding along confidently, as though he belonged. From long experience as a sneak, Coulson knew the best way to avoid notice was generally to simply behave as though you weren't sneaking at all. 

"Probably be a good idea if you let me do any talking that's necessary," Coulson murmured to Mitchell, striding along on his left. 

"That was pretty much my plan to begin with," Mitchell replied, without moving his lips. "I'll just look like the muscle, yeah?"

Coulson's mouth quirked. "Yes, good idea."

The corridor ended in a t-junction, and without hesitation Coulson turned right. He knew they were on level four, one below the confinement level where Loki was being held. Level three was too heavily guarded for them to get away with simply _appearing--_ unless you took your chances in the bathrooms-- and now Coulson was aiming them for the stairwell. 

As soon as they got into the main corridor, they began to encounter uniformed guards. Although he was careful not to show alarm in front of Mitchell, Coulson was concerned about the fact the troops were all masked up. Ordinarily, helmets weren't worn unless there was an active operation, and the masks didn't come down until they were actually under attack. 

There was no specific sense of urgency in the guards who passed by, which made it pretty clear they weren't actively under attack. Still, there was no reason to have troops breathing through air-exchange units on a routine basis. And the thing he kept thinking-- which was the reason for the alarm he was trying to hide from Mitchell-- was that back in his own reality, when Hydra and the Dire Wraiths had infiltrated SHIELD, the guards had also gone around masked up as if they were constantly under attack.

SHIELD was an intelligence agency with paramilitary capabilities. That meant there was always a level of paranoia at play. Coulson not only understood the tendency, he shared it. 

To a certain extent. 

Beyond that certain extent, in Coulson's considered opinion, paranoia just distorted your vision until you couldn't see anything properly. That was a concern. 

The other possibility, Coulson recognized, was that everyone was on heightened alert specifically because they had an alien sorcerer in detention. Which tended to confirm Thor's worries about the Loki back in their reality, since it was very difficult to believe the Loki he was used to would strike anyone as much of a threat-- particularly if he was too busy coughing and sniffling to cast any magic. Apart from everything else, _their_ Loki was extremely unlikely to lead with aggression. 

All of which made Coulson hope the witches back home knew what they were doing. It also left him pretty worried about _their_ Loki: if this reality was as anxious as all that about the Loki they were used to… if they'd genuinely had a bad experience with the Loki who came from here-- well, paranoia distorted things. It was possible that nobody was especially eager to give the new Loki the benefit of the doubt. 

One other thing was a cause for alarm, and Mitchell had spotted it, too. Very quietly, the vampire murmured, 

"Is it just me, or do some of the guards look surprised to see you?"

The reactions had been very subtle, but after all Mitchell was a predator, and he had to be wired to notice subtleties. 

"I thought the same thing," Coulson murmured back. "I hope I'm not supposed to be in Budapest or something. Here's the stairwell." There was a card reader mounted on the wall next to the door. Coulson reached into his jacket.

"You reckon your regular key card will work?" Mitchell asked.

"No," Coulson replied. "That's why I brought the other one." He brought out an access card, swiped it, and a light in in reader flashed green. Coulson pulled the door open, gave it a push to cover Mitchell following him, just in case they-- he-- was being watched by surveillance-- and went swiftly up the stairs. 

Just as they reached the steel door at the top of the stairs, a red light started flashing. From the corridor before them they could hear a siren wailing. 

"What the hell-- ?" Mitchell began. 

Coulson pursed his lips. "I don't know. Maybe Loki got tired of waiting for the rescue party. Let's just hope we get to him before all the doors start locking."

As he spoke, Coulson opened the steel door and the two slipped through.

"Halt!" called a very familiar voice. Coulson and Mitchell froze. "Turn around slowly." 

The two obeyed, Mitchell with his hands raised, Coulson with one raised and the other holding the briefcase. 

Facing them down the corridor was a tall figure in red-white-and-blue. Standing close beside him was a shorter one in red and gold. 

"Rogers," Coulson said coolly. "Stark."

Iron Man's mask retracted, revealing the shocked and wide-eyed face of Tony Stark. 

"Phil?" he faltered. "You're… _alive?"_

Coulson felt his eyebrows draw together. 

Not Budapest, then. 

_Damn._

~oOo~

"You're _alive,"_ Stark repeated, for about the fifth time. Rogers made a shushing gesture-- again-- which Stark completely ignored-- _again._ Looking practically unhinged, the engineer spluttered, "No, really-- you're _alive."_

"Obviously," Coulson replied woodenly.

The four of them were sitting in the conference room on the observation deck, overlooking the flight deck on one side and out over the ocean on the other, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Mitchell, true to his word or maybe just cowardly, had kept completely quiet as Rogers and Stark escorted the two into the elevator and then into the room. Now they looked at each other across the conference table and waited.

"Maybe you could expand on the whole _you're alive_ thing," Coulson suggested. 

"You're-- " Stark began, apparently stuck in a loop, and Coulson leaned forward to interrupt.

"Yes. Alive. I've gotten that part. Why is it a surprise?" 

"Because-- " Rogers began, his face stiff and distant with what was probably shock but looked strangely like disapproval. 

_"Because Loki fucking killed you, remember?"_ Stark almost shouted. 

Mitchell finally reacted to that-- his nostrils flared and he sat up straighter, hands flat on the table. Coulson gestured to him to settle down. Eyes glittering-- but at least not black-- the vampire ignored him. 

_"Mitchell,"_ Coulson urged quietly. Mitchell finally glanced at him sideways, and Coulson made the calm-down gesture again. With a visible effort, Mitchell obeyed, sitting back in the chair and folding his hands. He'd managed to draw the attention of both Rogers and Stark, but before anything unfortunate could happen the conference room door opened and the rest of the team walked in. 

Barton was in the lead, saying, "Okay, what hell is going on? " when Coulson rose to his feet and turned to face him. 

~oOo~

It was at least fifteen minutes before the confusion died down enough for anyone to make himself heard-- _himself_ being the operational word, because Romanov didn't even try. Not that Coulson did, either. He was quite irritated at the complete failure of his attempt at stealth, but he supposed that, considering how many people on the helicarrier knew "Coulson" by sight, and knew he was apparently _dead,_ it was unreasonable not to expect some sort of an alarm to go off the moment he was spotted. 

Actually, it was also probably unreasonable to expect _Banner,_ assuming he was on the team for the same reason as _their_ Banner, not to go off under these circumstances as well. To Coulson's infinite relief he did not-- there was no telling what a Hulk incident might do to the helicarrier. Which was why, in _his_ reality, they tried to avoid Hulk-on-a-helicarrier as much as possible. 

Coulson was keeping a close eye on Banner, but that didn't keep him from noticing Fury's reaction as well, and he thought Mitchell did, too. 

_All predators together, after all._

Fury was surprised to see him, all right, but Coulson had the impression that, unlike the others, the fact he was alive in the first place wasn't the main issue. No, Fury seemed to be surprised to see Coulson _here._

That was interesting, although not something he had time to think about right now.

Everyone else in the room, even Romanov and Barton-- who were, after all, SHIELD, with all that implied-- seemed distracted by the apparent resurrection. Rogers-- and a chilly, stiff-necked version of Rogers he was-- seemed to be holding it together largely out of a desire to figure out what the hell was going on. 

Stark, meanwhile… 

Well. Back in the home reality, Stark was high-strung in the first place, plus he was a genuine civilian, and in spite of the front he tried to put up everyone knew things bothered him. It looked like the Starks had that in common. It was pretty clear that whatever had gone on here, including the business of their Coulson getting killed-- which Coulson figured he'd think about some other time-- had shaken Stark up really badly. He had the look of a guy who was running on more coffee than sleep, which wasn't unusual for Tony back in their reality, but there was something about his eyes that suggested the lack of sleep had come first. 

Honestly, Coulson felt kind of bad for him. He had a soft spot for Stark in his own reality in the first place, and this one was obviously in quite a lot of distress. 

However, he didn't have time to worry about all that right now. And the first burst of shouting had finally died down.

Rogers, arms folded, turned to Fury. His face looked like something carved on Mount Rushmore.

"Did you ever intend to tell us he wasn't dead?" he asked stiffly. 

Something flickered in Fury's eye. And it wasn't that Coulson felt responsible for whether these Avengers worked well together or trusted each other, but he certainly didn't want to contribute to their team breaking down. Besides, if things went south right now it could make his mission harder. And since stealth had failed, there was no further reason for deception anyway. He might as well lay his cards on the table. The whole situation was crazy, but there was a version of Thor lurking in the background so surely magical aliens, at least, were a thing here. 

"I'm not dead," Coulson spoke over the other voices, "and I never have been. I'm sorry about your Coulson," he addressed Stark directly, because Stark was the most obviously distressed, "but I'm not him. My friend and I are from a different reality." Once again, there was one reaction for the Avengers as a whole, and another from Fury. Once again, Fury's reaction seemed to be about _I'm not dead._ Noting but not commenting on it, Coulson went on, "I know this sounds pretty crazy, but there you go."

"He's mind-controlled you, too," Barton said flatly. 

"Who has?" Coulson asked, interested.

_"Loki,"_ Barton said, just as Romanov spoke up,

"Look at his eyes, Clint. If he's being mind-controlled, it's not the same way you were."

Barton opened his mouth-- then looked hard at Coulson, and closed it.

"Mind-controlled," Coulson repeated, glancing at the still-silent but very alert Mitchell. As they'd driven back to the Tor, George and Mitchell had told him what the witches had found in the other Loki's mind.

The situation gave every sign of trying to fall-- _dive--_ off the rails again, so Coulson raised his voice slightly. "Okay. Let me see if I've got this straight. The Loki from this reality placed some kind of mind-control on Barton-- "

"-- and half a dozen other people-- " Rogers said gruffly.

"-- and killed… someone-- " Coulson went on, with another quick look at Mitchell to see how he was taking all this.

"He _practically destroyed New York,"_ Stark snarled. 

Mitchell shifted, and Coulson spoke smoothly,

"Okay. We get that you've had trouble with him." The hubbub of voices quieted down a little. Deciding to pick his battles, Coulson passed over the issue of whether the other Loki had been mind-controlled himself. Instead, he made an effort to be conciliatory as he went on, "So I can see how you might be concerned about this Loki as well-- "

"What did you say?" Rogers demanded.

"About _this_ Loki?" Stark yelped. 

Coulson shot a quick glance at Fury, and was interested to notice that, this time, the director's expression matched everyone else's. This was news to him, too. 

Rogers, on the other hand-- this time, the stiffness in Rogers' expression looked like… recognition? Guilt?

Okay. Fury knew something he wasn't telling the others about whatever happened to their Coulson. And Rogers knew--

\-- No, not _knew. Suspected._ Rogers _suspected_ something about Loki. He wasn't surprised to hear that this was a different guy-- although, really, anyone who'd gotten a good look at both of them should have figured it out at once.

Never mind: apparently, these Avengers didn't realize it, except for Rogers. Who maybe hadn't spoken up? 

_Interesting._ Coulson tried to imagine the Steve Rogers he knew keeping quiet about a thing like this-- _Hey guys, this one is innocent!--_ and couldn't make it come into focus.

Banner, who had been sitting there doing breathing exercises or something, finally spoke:

"Look, Agent… Agent. You look like Coulson, and you… more or less sound like Coulson… But you have to admit this is a pretty hard story to believe."

Coulson shrugged. "Where I come from, Bruce Banner is a mild-mannered physicist who turns into a fifteen-foot rage monster when he loses his temper. Maybe that's different on this side of the mirror?" 

Banner smiled tensely. "Okay, point taken. You came here from some other reality. Exactly how did you manage that?"

Coulson offered his meaningless professional smile. "Magic."

Banner nodded. "Of course. Magic. I'm just having some trouble understanding what you're supposed to be doing here?"

Coulson sat back. "The Loki who ended up here, in your reality, is a consultant with my team. He was involved in a magical accident that swapped him out with the Loki who belongs here-- "

"You're saying there are two Lokis," Rogers said stiffly. 

"There's probably one per universe," Coulson replied evenly. "And really, who knows how many universes there are. But between this universe and the one I'm from, there are two Lokis, and I'm here to get mine back."

_"Two_ Lokis," Stark repeated. Maybe the caffeine had taken its toll on his brain, because he didn't sound like a genius right now. 

Mitchell finally couldn't stand any more. "You're not trying to tell me that you can't tell the difference. Thor?" he appealed, turning in his chair. "Apart from everything else, you must have wondered why he was suddenly out of those chains and wearing pyjamas?"

There was a horrible silence. After a moment, Banner said quietly, 

"Pyjamas, Thor?"

Coulson didn't turn to look at the God of Thunder. He was too interested in the red, rigid face of Steve Rogers, who asked,

"Can you prove any of this?" 

Mitchell let out a sort of hiss. Coulson reached gently out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"You had the other Loki in custody, right?" he asked. "I'm sure you've got footage of both of them you could set up side by side. It's not difficult to tell them apart." He looked around. "Nobody suggested it?" 

Dead silence. They'd been that sure, even Romanov and Barton. 

That sure, or that compromised by what happened here before. 

_He practically destroyed New York._

_Not the time to think about that,_ Coulson reminded himself. 

"I took the precaution, before I left, of collecting some supporting materials. Do you mind if I take my cell phone out of my pocket?"

"Go ahead," Fury said gruffly. 

"Maybe someone could find me a laptop to connect it to?" Coulson requested. 

"Why the hell not," Stark grumbled, and rose from his chair. 

~oOo~

The Avengers were dead quiet as they gathered around the laptop. Tony had acted quickly, sending a lot of images and footage he'd pulled off JARVIS, most of them from the past holiday season. 

"Wait, is that the house in Scotland? That was sold off years ago," Stark muttered, as on the screen a skinny figure was reaching armpit-deep into an old-fashioned carpet bag and pulling out a brass floor lamp while Tony Stark's voice commented, _"Now you're just showing off, Mary Poppins,"_ and on the screen Loki looked up at him with a grin.

Loki and Thor, eating large slices of fruitcake, with every indication of pleasure, the Avengers looking on in undisguised horror.

Loki, sitting on a sofa surrounded by folded clothing, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged as Steve and Tony set a cardboard box on the floor before him. _"What have you here?"_

Clint Barton saying, _"I tried the Sorting Hat again, and this time it put me in Slytherin--"_ and Loki reaching out to take a bright little strip from him.

And then there were just a lot of still images of various Avengers, sitting at a dining table, or crowded onto big comfortable sofas, opening presents or handing each other food or dangling ribbons for a couple of black-and-white kittens. Somewhere in each picture was Loki, watching the action or laughing at someone or-- Thor sucked in an alarmed breath-- leaning forward to look more closely as Jane Foster held up a stuffed doll with a big smile on her face. 

"Where did you get those?" Stark demanded.

"Holiday party in Scotland," Coulson replied. "Tony Stark hosted us this past December."

"Those can't be real," Stark mumbled.

"Have you got that footage ready to be cued up?" Coulson asked, looking at Barton. 

"Sure," Barton said, in a strangled little voice. 

A moment later they were looking at a split-screen image of two figures in green-- Mitchell let out a muffled exclamation at that-- pacing in the glass cell. Rogers sucked in a breath.

On the left was the haughty, haggard figure of the older, angrier Loki, head up and shoulders rigid, his eyes sunken in dark circles and his bony face savage.

On the right, fidgeting his hands together, was Mitchell's housemate. He was softer around the eyes and mouth, the lines of his face not quite set, entirely younger and more vulnerable-looking. He wasn't even trying to pretend not to be scared and confused, and Mitchell had to stifle a growl at his expression. 

Coulson looked around, his face stony. "Still sure you can't tell which one is which?" he asked bitterly. 

"Christ," Stark muttered, leaning forward. One Loki was feral, furious, and gave them all the urge to reach for a weapon. The other one--

Not so much, really.

"Christ, he really isn't the same guy, is he?" Stark blurted. He turned and said accusingly, "Thor, how could you have _missed_ that?"

Thor was shaking his head. "That is… when he fell. That is what my brother…" He gestured at the screen. "He _looked like that."_

"When he fell into the void, you mean?" Mitchell asked quietly. Thor nodded. "How long ago did he fall?"

"A little over three years," Fury said. "Assuming he fell right after Thor went back to Asgard."

"So, about the same time our Loki did," Coulson murmured.

"Do you know how long he was _in_ the void?" Mitchell persisted. "How long _to him,_ I mean?" Everyone looked at him. Mitchell made a big shrug. "There had to be powerful magic in there with him-- them-- or they'd both be dead in the first place. It's just occurred to me that maybe-- assuming they were about the same age when they went into the void-- your Loki got caught in some sort of, sort of a time warp, and that's why he looks so much older than ours. I mean, considering the rate you age, there's a difference of at least a couple of hundred years there." 

Mitchell's face went rather white, and Coulson suspected he was imagining the other Loki, in the hands of whoever had put the controls in his mind, trapped for God-knows-how-long in the void.

If that was the case, no wonder the poor bastard looked so bad.

And it was more than evident Mitchell was at the end of his patience. Coulson had a lot of faith in the vampire's self-control, but he knew better than to push it much farther. 

There was no way these Avengers were going to let them just take Loki and go. Chances were they only about halfway believed him anyway, despite the evidence of their own eyes. And he knew SHIELD well enough to be damn sure they'd want an explanation for all of this before anyone got to go home.

Which wouldn't be any kind of an issue if he, Mitchell, and his cell phone could just get in a room with Loki. 

"We'd like to see him now, if that would be all right," Coulson said mildly, willing Mitchell to remain calm just a little longer. Loki was shaken up, but it had only been a day, and these weren't Dire Wraiths. Surely Loki could wait just a little longer to be rescued. 

This time, everyone in the room reacted, some more obviously than others. There was… an awareness. Coulson noted it, but Mitchell reacted. 

"We can see him, yeah?" the vampire demanded, looking around. 

"In person," Coulson interjected smoothly. More reactions.

"You," Fury said, gesturing at Mitchell. "You can see him. Coulson stays here. Come with me."

_Damn._

Thor folded his arms. "I, too, will accompany you."

_And "damn" again._

~oOo~

Loki looked up automatically when the door opened, although he felt no curiosity about who might be coming in, and the weight of dread in his belly was by now almost familiar. In the doorway were two of the faceless black creatures that guarded the cell. So far they had made no attempt to hurt him, but he remained still and acquiescent, just in case.

One of them stepped aside, and there was a figure in black and white, with dark hair. For a moment Loki thought… he thought… 

"Loki?" said the figure, gently, in a soft lilting voice.

Loki relaxed, his lips curving into a smile. "Oh," he said, his voice thick and heavy, "I like this dream."

The figure moved closer, and there was no mistake, despite the unaccustomed clothing: it was one of the young men from his dream, from the story he told himself where people were kind to and cared for him. The man did not smile, but nor did he look disapproving. 

"I'm here to see if you're all right," the man said, stepping forward. Loki nodded, leaning into the cold steel wall with his sore, hot shoulder. The man was close enough now for Loki to see his eyes were wet. 

"Where are the others?" Loki asked.

"The others?" 

"In the dream, there are three of you. You are there, and a young man with spectacles, and the most beautiful girl. There are always three-- "

He broke off, because there was another figure looming in the doorway. He had golden hair and a red cape and he was _wrong,_ even before he spoke Loki knew he was _wrong, felt_ wrong, should not be here--

"Go away," he ordered, light-headed with the relief of knowing it was a dream and he could so command. "You do not belong-- "

"Brother, stop," the figure ordered, and Loki shook his head.

_"No,"_ he protested. "In the dream, you are… he is… he is not angry. He smiles, and, and we are… he is not angry. Go away. I want the other one. You cannot be here."

In the doorway, the man's face twisted until Loki was almost sorry for him. But Loki's mind was suddenly, brilliantly clear, and he knew the man was not real, none of this was real. Loki wanted the dream to be _right._ It was all he had and he wanted the right dream. 

"Go away," he insisted, closing his eyes, his voice rising and going thin with anxiety. If he woke now, he would be alone again and would not even have the dream to console himself with. He wanted the other one, the… the _brother_ (the word popped into his mind and then oozed back out again) who smiled. If he could not have that one, then he wanted the wrong one to go away. 

And he did. When Loki opened his eyes, the man in the red cape was gone. 

He wished, very hard, for the young man with the spectacles and the beautiful girl to come through the door. They did not, but neither did the young man with the lilting voice disappear.

It was enough.

~oOo~

Back in the conference room, the rest of the team frowned at the monitor. They could see Loki trying to retreat from Thor, protesting about dreams. And then Thor withdrew, and Loki calmed down, hunched in on himself and looking at something the others couldn't see.

Rogers frowned. "So where's your friend?" 

Coulson, who was trying not to blow his mission by killing someone, replied, "He has certain powers of his own."

"What? To not show up on a camera?" Rogers asked.

"Great, he's a vampire," Stark grumbled.

"Don't be ridiculous," Coulson said coolly.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Phil Coulson is not putting up with your bullshit._
> 
>  
> 
> _**Warnings:** No, really: Phil Coulson is not putting up with your bullshit._

 

Coulson couldn't remember the last time he had let his personal feelings get in the way on a mission. When he was working, he just barely remembered he _had_ personal feelings. It wasn't the kind of thing a man in his line of work could indulge, not if he wanted to keep the job-- and his life. Coulson was a handler, and he _handled things._

But there were times when his _personal feelings_ were nearly visible, just below the surface like a monster under the quiet surface of a Scottish loch. Those were times it was best to metaphorically chew and swallow before he spoke. 

When the monitor came to life with the feed from Loki's cell, Coulson found he had to clench his teeth for a good fifteen seconds before it was safe for him to speak. 

"I can't commend your management of prisoners," he finally managed, in a decent approximation of his old cool tone. Romanov didn't react, but Rogers, Banner, and Stark all flushed. There was a long silence as they all gazed at the feed of the shirtless prisoner huddled on one end of the metal shelf that served as a cot. Coulson breathed carefully through his nose for a moment before he asked, "What happened to his shoulder?" 

"He tried to escape-- attacked Fury and tried to use him as a shield-- and Barton shot him," Romanov explained crisply. 

There were any number of ways that did not compute for the Loki he knew, but Coulson let it go. For one thing, given the assumptions the other side had been working with, their eyewitness testimony was probably even more tainted than your average eyewitness testimony, and he didn't want to hear it. There would be footage somewhere, and Coulson would wait for a look at that. 

For another, of course, it _was_ possible Loki had gotten desperate enough to do something really stupid. True, Thor's shapeshifting baby brother had remade himself into something that fit nicely into his new circumstances, a household that wanted nothing more than to peacefully coexist with the humans and supernatural creatures around it. 

And, now that he'd been freed of what must have been a lifelong welter of confusion over what was expected of him as the second-best prince, and given some tools to start rebuilding a personality he could live with, it turned out he was maybe a little more like his biological mother than anyone had ever thought to imagine. When you're the son of a bloodthirsty warlord like Laufey, it's understandable if people-- even your adoptive parents-- tend to forget about the other parent, who by all accounts paid attention to the welfare of her people, as opposed to the glory of the realm.

Nature versus nurture wasn't an argument Coulson ever wanted to get into-- he figured there was plenty of both involved, thanks-- but it did seem significant that the Loki who'd painstakingly put himself back together in Bristol watched parliamentary proceedings as if they were football and set guardian rhinos to protect little kids and their caregivers from supernatural danger. 

With all that said, though, Loki was still _also_ the guy who'd grown up as the second prince of Asgard, trailing the first prince into the kind of adventures that frankly only sounded heroic if you didn't know anyone on the receiving end. Of late both brothers seemed to have learned there was more to life-- and kingship-- than traveling the realms, meeting fascinating people, and sacking their villages, but it was certainly a fact that either of them would be a bad guy to go up against in a fight. 

And, of course, there was his history of both mental instability-- and in spite of obvious improvements, Coulson was privately of the opinion a century or two of therapy wouldn't be time wasted-- and, uncharacteristic as it now seemed, violence. If Loki had gotten frustrated, or angry-- or _scared--_ enough, it was certainly possible he might have done something foolish.

Looking at the figure on the screen, Coulson reminded himself there was no future in _him_ doing something foolish. 

"What about his hair?" Coulson asked, finally. 

"His what?" Stark asked, sounding uneasy. 

"His _hair,"_ Coulson repeated, enunciating clearly. "You know, that black stuff that used to cover his head? Kept his scalp from getting sunburned? What did you do to his hair?"

There was yet another unpleasant silence. Coulson started to turn toward the others, maybe give them one of his _looks--_

\-- And then, onscreen, Loki shifted. His hands, which had been huddled against his chest as if trying to comfort his magic, dropped to his lap. 

Coulson stared at the bold black lines marked on Loki's pale skin, over his heart.

And then he did turn. The look he gave the Avengers was one of his very best. 

~oOo~

Mitchell had been a vampire for damn near a hundred years and had not, in the general scheme of things, been on the wagon for all that long. It was a fight and probably always would be, which was something not even Loki completely understood. Loki, bless him, seemed to think Mitchell's ability to control his blood lust somehow meant he, Loki, could also learn to live a harmless life. 

Mitchell just didn't have the heart, or maybe the guts, to point out the flaw in that analogy. Loki had committed his crimes in a very short period of time in which he had been, to put it mildly, not in his right mind. Prior to that he'd managed to live more than nine hundred years without busting out into uncontrolled violence, and he certainly gave little sign of wanting to do so now, even on the days when he came home muttering about the state of the boys' toilets and what he would give for some proper Asgardian ale instead of feeble Midgardian beer. (This was one of his very few complaints about life on Midgard. Mind you, he drank the beer anyway.)

A vampire trying to give up blood wasn't a bit like Loki giving up crime. It would be much more like Loki trying to give up wanting to be accepted, to be a part of things. 

And knowing _that_ as well as he did was, right this minute, making it much harder than usual for Mitchell to stay calm and keep his fangs to himself. The guards weren't directly responsible for Loki being in here, he reminded himself, and there was no sign they'd taken advantage of the opportunity to put the boot in on their own account. It would do no good, in the long run or the short, to rip their throats out. 

Now, Director Fury, right out there with Barton, by the door, was another story: this whole mess was his doing, or at least his responsibility, and Mitchell was trying very hard not to think about that. In his own reality he both feared and kind of liked Nick Fury, and the idea of losing control and biting this one in the neck gave him a feeling like he was trying to peer into his own ear. 

Another factor that helped him stay in control was the presence, also out in the corridor, of a Thor who had no attachment to Mitchell and to all appearances little to Loki, either. If Thor turned on him, Mitchell knew perfectly well he wouldn't have a prayer-- so to speak. Much better to keep a grip on his own rising temper and just offer Loki whatever comfort he could. 

And little as it was, it was more than obvious that Loki needed all the comfort Mitchell could provide. Just for a second, when the door opened, Mitchell had thought there was no one home at all in Loki's eyes. That was bad enough, but when he'd startled babbling about dreams, Mitchell didn't know whether to burst into tears or go on a murderous rampage. 

He'd managed to opt for _neither,_ but it was lucky Thor withdrew when he did, because if he'd tried to argue-- or tried to insist on a relationship he hadn't earned, that belonged to someone else entirely-- 

Well, Mitchell's last moments might have involved him breaking off a fang in a sort-of-immortal throat. 

As it was, Thor went red-faced and backed away, to be replaced in the doorway by the black-masked guards again. Loki didn't seem to be overly bothered by them, so Mitchell tried to ignore their presence. The guards returned the favour, except when Mitchell tried to get close enough to Loki to touch him. Then, they'd stepped forward and gestured with their rifles, which made Loki cringe. Mitchell stepped back against the wall, slid down it to sit on the floor of the cell. Loki half-turned toward him, shifting his hands as he did so. 

The black markings over Loki's heart made Mitchell's skip a beat. 

"Loki," he said softly, "what's that on your skin?"

~oOo~

Loki clearly didn't enjoy traveling in the commuter jet Tony arranged for the housemates. Oh, he boarded without complaint, even carried the cat basket while George and the flight crew managed their hastily-packed bags, but his knuckles were white and his face might have been carved out of bone. Annie started to reassure him that flying was perfectly safe, and then reconsidered, thinking it probably wasn't the flying that was bothering him. 

_Claustrophobic,_ she thought, although that probably didn't completely cover it. Partly claustrophobia, but certainly partly fear of being out of control. Which you'd think he'd be used to, considering the way his life had been going recently, but Annie knew from experience there were some things that just felt worse and worse the longer they went on. 

He seemed particularly uneasy about the seat belt, so Annie was careful to explain that it was mostly needed to keep him safe during takeoff and landing. Loki looked rather cynical at the idea, honestly, but he acquiesced. Annie had the impression he gave in to the belt because she asked him nicely, and she was willing to take that. 

And then he spent the entire flight with his hands rigidly clasped, as if he was waiting for something awful to happen, for the plane to crash or something. Neither Annie nor George was a terribly experienced flyer either, to be honest, and by the time the plane landed at the airport at Wick, all three of them were completely wound up. Scamp kept hurrying back and forth to put her head in their laps in an effort to comfort them. 

All in all, Annie much preferred the times she and her friends had made the journey by train, particularly last winter when they were all coming for the holidays. Still, flying was an awful lot faster, especially when you were met by one of Tony's employees and driven to the big stone lodge outside Thurso. 

There wasn't much sign of staff members when they arrived, although George and Annie both received emails from Tony explaining that there would be security outside on the grounds. These had been instructed to stay away from the big storage building at the back of the house tonight, and to ignore any noise that came from it, no matter what. Aside from that, the kitchen was well-stocked, Annie and George knew the layout of the house, and the non-security staff had cleared out so the housemates didn't need to worry about innocent bystanders. 

"Welcome back," said a smooth voice as they entered the house. Loki tightened his grip on the bag he was carrying, and the voice went on calmly, "I am JARVIS, an artificial intelligence entity. I will be monitoring the security of the interior of the house for you."

"Thanks, JARVIS," George said. "Loki, JARVIS is a friend of ours. JARVIS, did Tony explain to you about this Loki?"

"He did, sir," JARVIS replied. "I hope you will be comfortable here."

"Thank you, JARVIS," George repeated. 

"Let's get ourselves settled," Annie suggested, taking Loki's hand. 

When they had stayed here over the holidays, Annie and Loki had stayed in a guest room in the converted attic where the servants had slept. There were several rooms in that wing, and both George and Annie felt the third floor would give them all a feeling of security. Whether Loki agreed or not, he acquiesced and allowed himself to be established in a room between George and Annie. George, on behalf of himself and Nina-- who was to arrive the next day-- took the large corner room that had been Annie and Loki's over the holidays, which Annie thought was the nicest for a couple. 

They unpacked and settled the kittens in Annie's room. After that, they went down two flights of stairs to the kitchen, where they found a pasta casserole in the refrigerator ready to be heated up in the oven. George and Loki ate, and then George and Annie did the washing-up. Loki showed no inclination to help, and somehow Annie, remembering _her_ Loki's anxious eagerness, found she didn't mind his reticence. They were two different Lokis, and she found it somehow comforting to reminded of this. 

And then the shadows were getting longer, and George changed into old clothing and excused himself. He went out the back kitchen door without explanation-- Annie, of course, didn't need one, but she turned to Loki to make sure he knew what was going on. 

It was pretty clear there was no point in trying to talk to him. Loki's eyes were trying to slide shut, he was settling bonelessly down into the sofa cushions with the kittens on his lap, and he certainly wasn't paying attention to her explanations about George's full moon plans. 

Well, Catherine _had_ said he'd sleep through the full moon. The trick right now was to make sure he didn’t do it in his clothes, on the sofa. 

"Come on," Annie said kindly, "it's time for you to go to bed." Loki blinked at her, and Annie smiled. "Come on, up you get." She put a cold hand on his neck and he flailed a little bit, the kittens scrambling off his lap, then tottered to his feet to follow Annie. 

The two flights of stairs didn't seem like such a good idea by this time, but they managed. Loki even brushed his teeth, and when Annie checked in to say goodnight was in his nightclothes and under the covers. Philip and Elizabeth scampered in and curled up on top of the covers. Annie was smiling to herself as she and Scamp made their way downstairs. 

~oOo~

_(Earlier that day)_

"How are you progressing with the spell to bypass the magical guardians?" Wyndham asked, as he walked into Doom's quarters as though he had the right. It was early morning, but Doom had not slept. 

"There is little point," Doom replied, without looking up from the scrying bowl. "They have left the house."

Wyndham stared. _"Left?"_ he demanded. "And have gone where? Have you found them?"

Doom finally looked up. "They are far to the north, in Scotland. We shall go there."

"And how long will it take to get there?" demanded Wyndham.

"We shall be there before the moon sets."

~oOo~

"You're kidding me," Coulson said, his tone ominous. "Please tell me you're kidding me. You used _the runes_ on him?"

"Oh no," Stark muttered, "not _the runes."_

"Shut up," Rogers snapped. 

"What possessed you to do that?" Coulson demanded. 

"Thor said-- " Stark began.

 _"Thor? Thor_ told you to use them?" In spite of himself, Coulson could hear disbelief in his own voice. 

"Phil, how else did you expect us to know about them?" Stark asked reasonably. 

"Don't call me Phil," Coulson snapped, his hands itching for a taser. "Did Thor tell you what they'd do to him?" 

"He said they'd tie up his magic," Rogers said, in the tone of a soldier reporting to a superior officer. 

"And did he mention them doing anything else?" Coulson asked tightly. Silence. "No? Nothing?" More silence. Exasperated, Coulson persisted, "Okay, when that footage you showed me was taken, of Loki standing around in the cell, was he disoriented and babbling about _dreams?"_

"No," Banner said tiredly. "And you're right-- he was… adversely affected by them."

"I think Thor was as surprised as anyone at… at what happened," Rogers offered finally. "I'm quite sure he didn't expect that."

"That's true," Stark agreed. "We were all thinking more-- "

"Magical handcuffs," Banner contributed. 

"We didn't expect them to hurt him," Rogers said apologetically. 

"Although," Stark said defiantly, "after what he did to New York, I can't say I felt all that sorry for him." Aware of everyone glaring at him, Stark shrugged. "It's true. And Thor was pretty sure he was planning-- "

Before Coulson could react, possibly violently, Stark suddenly went pale and fell silent, apparently remembering this wasn't the same Loki. And maybe something else. 

"What?" Coulson prompted. 

"Thor thought Loki was… he thought Loki was planning something, had other allies… Because he, he-- when he was in Asgard, he made such a thing about being from Earth, about wanting to come here. Thor figured he must be, he was… that's what we've been trying to get out of him all this time." Stark actually looked sick. "And you're telling us he really does-- I mean, he spends time on Earth?"

"He lives in Britain," Coulson replied. "Full-time. Has a job-- which can be awkward sometimes when the Avengers need his expertise in a hurry-- and room-mates. And kittens," he added ruthlessly. 

For the first time, Romanov's expression changed. "He doesn't happen to… that job isn't at a school, is it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," Coulson replied, eyes narrowing. "Why do you ask?"

Romanov didn't answer right away. Coulson waited, and finally-- reluctantly-- she explained,

"That might have been one of the things that triggered his escape attempt. We showed him-- "

"Satellite images of Bristol, England," Stark said. 

"Of a school in Bristol, England," Rogers said, his ears flaming red. One didn't need to be a trained spy to figure out there was something else going on. Something about--

"And how exactly did you show him the satellite images?" Coulson asked. 

The Avengers looked at each other. Finally, Romanov nodded toward Stark, who turned back to the laptop and touched some keys. 

Right about now you had to figure Mitchell, in the cell with Loki, was using every scrap of self-control he had to keep himself from going on an infuriated rampage. Coulson found himself very glad the vampire wasn't watching this footage right now. 

Onscreen, Loki had initially looked sick and miserable, not to mention a little loopy-- which could have been flu, or could have had something to do with the suspiciously elaborate shackles around his wrists. They looked similar to the ones Thor had showed him, the ones that had bound the other Loki, which suggested they were intended to lock down the wearer's magic.

Characteristically, Loki started off with a fruitless effort to be conciliatory. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the other watchers, they were perhaps seeing this footage with new eyes. Coulson's attention was divided between them and the screen as he registered Loki being shown what seemed to be footage of destruction of some kind-- destruction he was apparently being blamed for. Understandably, Loki looked confused and upset.

And then his attention was riveted by something onscreen. _"Is that a school?"_ he asked. 

It was all downhill from there: Fury's voice could just be heard, half-taunting and half-threatening: _"I guess you have schools in Bristol, do you?"_

Coulson's blood ran cold as he watched Loki go from confused and upset, to alarmed… to a kind of icy disdain.

 _"Where do these images come from?"_

_"Our missile-guidance systems have remarkable capacities."_

Loki's face settled into lines of anger that quite suddenly made him look almost as dangerously feral as the other Loki-- 

\-- and then there was a green flash. Loki screamed in pain and then vanished, leaving his shackles in a heap on the floor. 

Stark pressed a key and the footage froze. Everyone looked at Coulson, who asked, 

"What happened next?" 

"He went through the wall of the cell and grabbed Fury by the throat," Rogers explained. 

"Not surprising," Coulson commented. "I'd have expected him to do a hell of a lot worse, actually. To me, it sounded very much as if Fury was implying there were missiles aimed at a school somewhere in Bristol." 

Stark looked sheepish. "That was a bluff."

Coulson raised his eyebrows. "I certainly hope so. Ordinarily, Loki's very good at spotting a lie, but it looks like this time he was too mixed up or too upset for good judgement. Although apparently he wasn't so mixed up he did anything really violent to Fury?" 

"Right," Rogers agreed gruffly.

That was a _good_ sign, Coulson reminded himself. Angry, confused, and not thinking clearly though he was, Loki had still managed to restrain any impulse to actually hurt Fury. Progress. He'd probably need to be reminded of that, later. 

In the meantime, Coulson took a breath and resisted the urge to lash out, himself. Shouting wouldn't help-- if anything, it would just make the others believe he wasn't really Coulson-- and besides, he didn't have a gun with him.

That didn't mean he couldn't speak up.

"That was lucky for Fury," Coulson said pleasantly. "Because let me tell you, if you'd pushed it a step farther and made Loki think you'd _actually_ raised a hand against any children-- let alone children in _Bristol--_ you might have arrived to find him using Fury's head as a football. You have no idea how ugly things could have gotten, if he'd thought you were a genuine threat to children. And don't even try to tell me he should have known better than to doubt you, not after you locked him up like a criminal without even investigating his story."

And then, to his annoyance, fairness asserted itself. 

"What did he-- what did you _think_ he had done?" he asked. Stark looked relieved, and all four of the Avengers talked over each other for several minutes as Coulson worked to keep the story straight. Stark even pulled up footage of Barton's mind-controlled effort to "rescue" Loki from the helicarrier-- "you can tell by that freaky thing with his eyes"-- and then retrieved security footage of Loki's initial arrival, which had been stored on a remote server. 

"Between that and the attack on the town in New Mexico," Romanov said drily, "we really weren't in the mood to give him the benefit of the doubt this time."

"I can see that," Coulson replied. "Shame about him being the wrong Loki, of course." 

Stark winced more visibly than anyone, then rallied a little. "But he did say there are creatures coming, another invasion force. They're called Dire Wraiths." 

"Dire Wraiths? Are you sure he didn't say they'd come already?" Everyone's face changed. _Bingo._ "Because in our reality, we had a lot of trouble with the Dire Wraiths and-- well, it turned out Hydra wasn't wiped out in the Forties after all." Rogers flinched, and Coulson nodded. "They infiltrated SHIELD, brought in their own army, and attacked a number of locations around the world, including New York, which seemed to be their final target."

"And I suppose Loki saved the day," Stark scoffed. 

"Not quite," Coulson replied. "Although he did die trying." Before anyone could follow up on that, he went on, "So Barton was under some kind of mind-control, is that right?"

"Yes," Romanov replied, her voice tense. "Loki used the sceptre on him."

Coulson nodded. "Okay. So who used the sceptre on Loki?"

There was complete silence. Finally, Stark got out, 

"What?" 

"Who used the sceptre on Loki?" Coulson repeated. "You pointed out Barton's eyes. Surely you noticed, in the footage you showed me, that Loki's eyes look exactly the same as Barton's?" 

It was evident from their expressions that, in fact, none of the Avengers had made that connection. Romanov turned to Stark, who punched up the footage again: first Barton, then Loki. Then Barton again. 

"Christ," said Banner. Stark had a hand over his mouth, and Rogers looked so sick that Coulson just went ahead and felt sorry for him. 

"How did we miss that?" Rogers asked. The question was probably rhetorical, but Romanov offered the same explanation that had occurred to Coulson:

"We missed it because we were occupied with the crisis, not thinking about Loki, and we never looked at the two of them side by side." She made a face that probably indicated professional disgust rather than remorse, but professional disgust was a far more powerful motivator for someone like her anyway.

"And Thor didn't see him," Banner said quietly. "Not even when he was looking at him."

"How sure are we that the eyes mean the same thing?" Stark asked, rallying slightly. 

"We've got access to a couple of other magical consultants," Coulson replied, "and they independently reported they had found evidence of some kind of control in his mind. While they were trying to heal his injuries-- "

"That was me," Banner remarked, not sounding especially proud of it.

"Some of them, sure," Coulson agreed. "But quite a few of them were fairly old-- based on some of his reactions, and the evidence of the mind lock, we're operating on the theory that his captors inflicted a lot of them while they were… persuading him." As an afterthought, Coulson added, "And of course the rhino didn't do him any good, either. Can you bring up that footage of Loki's cell again?"

Stark turned back to the laptop, then glanced up at Coulson out of the corner of his eyes.

"You really are friends with him," he said. It was not quite a question. 

"And that surprises you," Coulson said, and then remembered. "Because your Loki killed your Coulson." 

"Yeah," Stark mumbled. 

"Loki was escaping and Coulson tried to stop him," Rogers explained. 

"And that screwed him," Stark said, with a burst of savagery. "Because that was what brought the team together to fight the invasion force."

Coulson had been doing a pretty good job of keeping calm, up to now, but those _personal feelings_ he'd been holding down since he got here suddenly broke free. 

_"Brought the team together?"_ he demanded. "You mean an alien invasion force wasn't enough?" Rogers looked shamefaced-- and well he might-- and Coulson heard himself saying, "Don't tell me-- in this reality, you waited until the Panzer divisions _rolled onto Ebbets Field_ before you joined the army." Without waiting for an answer-- and really, that was a dirty shot-- Coulson turned and headed for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Romanov said, starting forward.

"I'm going to check on Loki."

"You can't do that."

"Then shoot me," Coulson suggested, managing to get his voice back under control.

She didn't. Coulson picked up his briefcase and walked out the door.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Phil Coulson is not putting up with your bullshit--  and neither is Annie.
> 
> **_Warnings:_** None.

Left on their own for the evening, what with Loki asleep and George off being a werewolf, Annie and Scamp wandered into the sitting room with the television and the DVD player. Most of Tony's DVDs were action movies, the kind with spaceships or giant robots and plenty of explosions. Mitchell and George loved films like that. For her part, when Annie was forced to watch such a film she always imagined she might actually die _again,_ of boredom. 

However, there was a special compartment in the cabinet that housed the DVD player. Mitchell had it found when they were all here for the first time, last August. 

At the time Annie had been as reluctant as anyone to investigate the secret compartment, on the grounds they probably didn't want to know what kind of films Tony kept hidden away. Steve had countered that it was _Tony,_ and did they really think _Tony_ would _hide_ any offensive material he happened to possess? 

As it turned out, what Tony kept hidden were things like _The Muppet Show_ and _The Princess Bride._ At the moment, _The Princess Bride_ was exactly what Annie needed: something soothing to play in the background while she was too anxious to sleep, and familiar enough that she didn't have to concentrate too hard to follow the story. 

It worked: the jokes were still funny, and the Shrieking Eels still made her jump. Annie curled up on the end of the sofa and began to relax. 

Inigo Montoya was just explaining about the six-fingered man when Scamp suddenly stood up on the other end of the sofa and began to growl. 

"Scamp?" Annie said softly. The dog's shape didn't change, which could have meant she was hearing a strange human or an animal, neither of which would worry Annie unduly. 

But it also might have meant that whatever Scamp sensed wasn't quite near enough to set her off. 

Yet.

Scamp hopped off the sofa and scurried toward the entry hall, hackles up and still growling her little-dog growl. Annie sat frozen for a moment, watching the dog go. Then she turned off the television and zapped herself upstairs. 

In his bedroom, Loki was lying on his back with the kittens on his chest. When Annie stepped into the room and called his name, Elizabeth was the only one who flicked an ear. Annie moved closer to the bed, reaching out to turn on the bedside lamp as she did. That woke Philip, who stretched crankily and yawned. Annie shook Loki gently by the shoulder, only managing to annoy the kittens into scrambling off his chest and decamping to the foot of the bed. 

And all this time Loki-- skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony (his lips were perhaps not quite as red as blood, but never mind)-- slept on in his enchanted sleep. It was definitely an enchanted sleep: no one as high-strung and anxious as Loki would naturally be so difficult to wake, and besides, she hadn't had anything like this much trouble waking him last night when Doom showed up. 

"I am going to murder that witch," Annie announced to the kittens, and left the room, closing the door behind herself. On second thought she closed the doors to all the other guest rooms, then zapped herself back downstairs to the entry hall.

Scamp was sniffing at the bottom of the door, barking and snarling but still in her small shape. Ordinarily Scamp was as friendly as a ghost dog could possibly be, so Annie ruled out the idea she was being upset by a human out there. The only people around would be Tony's security staff, and surely they wouldn't upset Scamp this much. It had to be some kind of magical or supernatural threat. 

And the fact she was this angry without changing forms suggested the intruder hadn't come close enough to trigger her shapeshifting spell. And that, to Annie, implied that Scamp was upset because the intruder was familiar to her, someone or something she already registered as a threat. 

"Is it that Dr. Doom, baby?" she asked. "Or one of those nasty vampires?" Scamp growled and dug at the bottom of the door with her tiny paws. She was furious, but she still hadn't changed shape. 

And then Annie had a really awful thought: Scamp had spent centuries tied to a ruined church by a spell on her bones, which had been buried in the churchyard. Those bones were now in a plastic storage container, in the basement of the pink house. It hadn't even occurred to Annie to bring them along.

Scamp was able to travel with Annie, had come with the housemates to this very house over the Christmas holidays. Annie and her friends assumed the little dog's primary attachment was to her, and emotionally that certainly seemed true. But suppose Scamp could only assume her Grim form to protect the place where her bones lay? She hadn't needed to transform at Christmas, not surrounded by friends. Suppose she couldn't do it at all?

The window next to the heavy oak door was thick-pained and old, hard to see through, so Annie slipped into the darkened study off the entry hall and peered cautiously out the window there. There were times when she wished she could become invisible at will, although she had no desire to return to the old days when no one but supernaturals could see her. Besides if, Doom was as powerful as she was afraid he was, he probably would be able to see her anyway. 

She was very careful not to stir the curtains as she looked out. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then--

\-- The driveway emerged from the woods at some distance in front of the house, and Annie could see, in the moonlight, a figure moving. Annie thought she could see a cape, and the moonlight glinted off its face in a way that suggested it was reflecting off metal. Annie held her breath, and the figure vanished back into the woods.

The trees grew quite near the house on one side, to the left as Annie stood looking out the window. The figure-- Dr. Doom, obviously-- didn't reappear. Annie thought, since his frontal assault had failed in Bristol, he might be trying to stay out of sight, to sneak up on them. Standing at the window, with a phantom sensation of her heart pounding in her ears, Annie strained to see any movement in the trees.

In the entry hall, Scamp's angry yapping suddenly turned into a roar. Annie dashed to the study doorway just in time to see the little black dog sort of unfurl into the slavering, rough-coated hellhound that was her Grim form. 

And then she simply passed through the oaken door and went baying out onto the lawn. Annie went back to the window and watched, with a feeling of relief, as the dog went charging toward the treeline.

"Miss Sawyer?" JARVIS spoke up softly. "I cannot tell where you are at the moment, but there appears to be someone attempting to enter the house-- "

JARVIS broke off and fell silent.

And, from the back of the house, there came a soft click that sounded like a door opening. 

Annie stood perfectly still, listening. For a second she hoped it was Tony, or one of the other Avengers, arriving to the rescue. But wouldn't they have come up the driveway? On the other hand, Thor had once used the nearby seashore as a Bifrost landing site. It was possible she wouldn't have been able to see or hear the whirlwind of light that accompanied any arrival from Asgard.

However-- surely any of the Avengers, and certainly Thor, would have called out a greeting of some kind? Even if they knew Doom was outside and had come in the back way for that reason, any of them would have made sure the occupants of the house knew someone was there.

And _JARVIS_ would have announced an Avenger, yeah?

But it couldn't be a vampire, because vampires couldn't enter a residence unless they were invited. Right?

Keeping close to the wall, Annie crept in the direction of the sound. The only lights on in the house were a lamp in the television room and a low-burning light on the landing above. Annie could see perfectly well, but she was aware that if a vampire had somehow gotten in, his night vision would be excellent as well. Only how on earth could a vampire-- ?

She flattened herself against the wall as a figure stepped out of the kitchen at the far end of the house. He was small, narrow-shouldered, very neat. As he turned toward her, his eyes for a moment seemed to glow red. There was no doubt in Annie's mind what sort of a creature he was. 

"Who's there?" he called, his voice lilting, almost teasing, the voice of a predator calling to his prey. She could smell the danger on him, imagined the terror he must inspire in his human victims. 

Annie suddenly felt her spine stiffen. 

_I'm already dead,_ she reminded herself sternly, and stepped away from the wall. 

~oOo~

Coulson was working very hard to maintain his appearance of calm as he and the Avengers walked along the corridor toward Loki's cell. He had a feeling he wasn't quite pulling it off, but if so no one seemed inclined to point it out to him. Possibly they didn't realize he was unarmed. Well, except for his Swiss Army knife, but you couldn't kill a dozen people with that.

Probably.

Fury, Barton, and Thor were standing outside the open door of the cell, which was blocked by a couple of armed guards. Neither of the guards looked as though they planned on doing anything aggressive in the next few minutes, so Coulson focused on his not-colleagues. He found himself experiencing a moment of mild sympathy for the dislocation they were feeling-- he certainly shared it. 

But with that said, he still had no intention of putting up with any nonsense from anybody. His goal was to get himself and Mitchell into the cell at the same time, activate the interdimensional… app… and get all three of them out of here. If he managed to convince this bunch to stop and think the next time they found themselves with an alien in their custody, good, but it wasn't his primary goal right now.

He walked up to Fury and Barton.

"I need to talk to my guys," he announced. 

"Your guys," Barton repeated, deadpan. Coulson knew Barton very well and he was quite sure he was reading some confusion and anger behind the coolness. 

"Yes," Coulson said calmly, and repeated, _"My guys."_ He remembered Fury uttering those words, that first time on the helicarrier, to a Loki who'd been strapped to a chair in the magic-draining restraints and trying to pretend he was less scared and less weak than he was. He remembered himself watching the whole thing from above in case he was called on to electrocute Loki again. It occurred to him to hope Loki hadn't flashed back to all that in his confusion, wouldn't assume Coulson was just another interrogator now. 

He pushed the thought away. "Mitchell and Loki. My guys. I want to talk to Mitchell, and by the way Loki looks in the security feed I think I need to see his condition for myself."

"Agent Coulson," Thor said, carefully using the correct form of address as if it felt uncomfortable in his mouth. Thor, the _real_ Thor used to sound like that, back in the early days before he realized _Son of Coul_ was inappropriate and started using it only to tease. "You must realize-- my brother is a very talented liar, and cannot be trusted. I would not see you place your faith in him, only to have him turn on you."

"Yeah," Barton agreed. "I mean-- _God of Mischief,_ after all. That's not a good sign right there. Even in human mythology he's a bad guy."

Coulson thought about the Swiss Army knife for a single, longing moment. He wasn't serious-- it wasn't like he was going to be able to stab anything Barton-shaped without a lot more provocation than this. And he tried again: 

"As this Loki would say, all stories are true, somewhere. But where I come from the myths are only stories, and Loki and his brother are aliens, not gods. And Thor-- this isn't _your_ brother. He's actually a pretty nice kid-- and besides, I like his girlfriend." The look on Thor's face made it clear the Asgardian was about to say something Coulson didn't want to hear, so he went on, "I admit I don't know what your brother was like before someone worked him over and messed with his mind, but-- "

"What are you talking about?" Barton interrupted. Fury frowned as well, but not in the same way as Barton. 

Something else Fury knew that the others didn't.

Oh, screw not messing with this team, if Fury was already doing it himself. 

"You knew about it, didn't you." He didn't bother to make it a question. 

Fury inclined his head, then shrugged. "Not the part about 'messing with his mind'-- although it wasn't hard to see he was crazy as a shithouse rat from the moment he arrived. The rest of it, sure." Barton was frankly staring, and Fury said calmly, "You probably don't remember this, since you weren't in your right mind yourself within five minutes of Loki showing up, but he looked like hell. Probably would have fallen over, if he hadn't had that glowstick to prop himself up with."

"So you figured-- " Coulson prompted.

"Figured? Like you said, I _knew,"_ Fury replied. "I know what it looks like, when someone's cracked under _enhanced interrogation,_ s and I knew if he broke once, I could break him again." He gave Thor a level look and went on, "Yeah, I know-- you figured we couldn't put him in enough pain to make any difference."

_Just when you think this whole mess couldn't get any worse--_ "You planned to torture him, and _you_ knew about it?" Coulson asked stupidly, looking from Fury to Thor.

"We needed information," Fury reminded him. Barton and Romanov looked unsettlingly composed about the whole thing, although since they were SHIELD he supposed they'd have made their peace with the agency and its methods a long time ago. To Coulson's relief the other human Avengers all looked varying degrees of shocked or sick about the idea. Fortunately for everyone, none of them, including Banner, seemed to be angry, at least not yet. 

Coulson was mad enough for all of them, frankly. 

"Information," he repeated. "You were planning to torture him for _information._ Do we have to get the longhairs from Amnesty International in here again to explain what kind of information torture gets you?" When no answer was forthcoming, Coulson went on, more loudly, "It gets you whatever the subject thinks will make you stop, is what it gets you."

"A prince of Asgard would never-- " Thor began, and Coulson interrupted. 

"I know, I know, you don't think he'd have broken. Here's the thing, Thor-- _everybody breaks._ And if you don't know that, you've never been tortured." Thor looked defensive and mutinous, and Coulson went on, "No? So you don't know what it's like to be alone, and helpless, knowing nobody is coming to help you and nobody is going to make them stop, and that you've got nothing to trade and no deal you can make." Stark winced, which seemed to confirm one point of similarity between him and the guy Coulson now thought of as Tony. "And we don't know how long your brother was in the hands of whoever had him. Did you not even _ask_ what happened to him?"

There was no answer. Coulson hadn't really expected one. Trying not to imagine what the real Thor would make of this one, Coulson said flatly, 

"I'm going in there and see how he is. I'd appreciate if the rest of you would just stay out of sight-- I don't think he's in any condition to deal with you." There was a monitor outside the cell-- there were cameras and monitors everywhere-- and with any luck Stark or someone would explain about Mitchell's "mutation"-- and Coulson would be able to get them all out of here before Fury decided it was a good idea to keep Mitchell, too, and perform experiments on him or something. 

Barton looked mutinous as Coulson moved toward the cell, but Stark spoke up suddenly:

"Should we get the medic back here?"

"Why the medic?" Coulson asked, carefully sounding only mildly interested. In fact, as bad as Loki looked on the monitor, it was easy to believe-- 

"He was-- he kind of took all this personally," Stark mumbled. "He, um, didn't like a prisoner being treated badly, and he was pretty sure Loki was getting too confused to answer questions accurately."

"Huh. Well, better the medic than nobody," Coulson remarked. "Congratulations to him." 

He turned back toward the cell. Fury gestured, and the guards stepped aside. 

Coulson walked through the door. 

~oOo~

"Well, well" drawled the dapper vampire, who had to be this Edgar Wyndham, the Old One, "who have we here?" 

Annie raised her chin and moved into the middle of the hallway. "You haven't been invited in," she said firmly. "You need to leave." 

Wyndham smirked. "You're thinking of the young ones, like John Mitchell, or that fool Seth-- who should be dealing with whatever human guards are left, right about now. Rules like _having to be invited in_ don't apply to me, any more than any nonsense about religious symbols."

"That isn't what I meant," Annie replied. _Owen, with his smirk, telling her he was a god._ She clenched her hands. "I meant, you don't belong here, I don't want you here, and I'm telling you to leave." 

Wyndham's smile widened, lips pulling back from his teeth and his eyes glittering. 

"Oh, little one," he practically hissed, "you have no idea what you are dealing with." He began to move toward her in a loose, stalking gait, like a panther toward its prey. "You know who we're here for. Stand aside and don't make us hurt you."

Annie edged backward as Wyndham moved toward her. 

"I don't see any _us,"_ she said in a nervously defiant voice. "Just you." 

Something flickered in Wyndham's eyes. _He was wondering where Doom was, too._ Annie certainly hoped Scamp's Grim powers worked on corporeal sorcerers.

And then Wyndham smiled again-- really, it was more of a grimace-- and focused on Annie. He looked like a snake hypnotizing a mouse. It was probably the way he looked at his human victims. 

"Oh, he'll be along shortly," Wyndham assured her. "Now, tell me where the God of Mischief is hiding. Shameful, really, hiding behind a little thing like you-- "

He had just reached the open doorway of the formal dining room. Annie stepped sideways, into the living room on the same side of the hall, the room that opened into the dining room. 

Wyndham chuckled, a sound like chains rattling. "Come out, little one. Let's play."

From the nearness of his voice, Annie judged he was standing exactly where she needed him to be.

"Fine," she called. "You're it." 

And then she raised a hand and gestured. 

Wyndham turned just in time to see a heavy wooden chair flying toward him. He tried to duck, but the chair still crashed into him, knocking him off his feet. He cursed, tried to scramble to his feet, and two more chairs sailed out of the dining room to batter into him. 

"Maybe _you_ have no idea who _you're_ dealing with," Annie suggested, and zapped herself into the kitchen, behind him. She pulled open a cupboard and sent some heavy saucepans bouncing off the back of his head. As he staggered forward Annie taunted, "I know, I throw like a girl." 

Distracted and furious, Wyndham whirled toward her. Annie became visible and ran into the television room. She remembered Herrick, the old leader of the Bristol vampires-- his arrogance, how angry he had been when he thought Mitchell and Loki weren't respectful enough. Now she was gambling she could make him angry enough to temporarily forget about trying to find Loki. 

So far, it was working: Wyndham came striding after her, growling in rage and apparently unaware-- or perhaps he had forgotten-- that he was dealing with a ghost. 

He came storming through the open doorway looking ready to tear someone's throat out, which was just his bad luck since Annie, of course, didn't technically have one.

What she did have was a great deal of experience in moving heavy pieces of furniture so that she could clean behind them. 

The sofas were just about heavy enough. 

Annie gathered all the poltergeist power she had-- fuelled by fear and anger-- and pushed it toward the sofa nearest the door. Wyndham skidded to a halt, almost like a cartoon character, as the sofa lifted up and came flying at him. Annie threw herself into it and the couch drove Wyndham across the entry hall, smashing him into the wall. 

The sofa rebounded and crashed to the floor, smashing two of the dining room chairs still lying there. Wyndham rolled onto his side-- had he been human, he wouldn't have been able to move or breathe, but the awkward thing was, of course, that he wasn't breathing in the first place. 

And he hadn't lived long enough to become an Old One without having an excellent sense of self-preservation. He certainly registered the danger presented by splintered chair legs before Annie did. Wyndham scrambled to his feet just as Annie registered the fact there were, in effect, stakes scattered all over the floor. Unfortunately, her aim was a great deal better with a sofa: the first chair leg she cast after Wyndham missed, sticking into the plaster wall by the kitchen door instead. A moment later he was out the back door and gone.

Annie picked up another sharp section of broken chair leg and then, leaning against the wall, she walked unsteadily back to the staircase that led up to the wing where Loki was sleeping. She sat down on the stairs with the big splinter in her hand, shaking all over. 

JARVIS spoke again. "Miss Sawyer? Although I still cannot register your presence, I hope you can hear me. I have notified Mr. Stark of this incident, and he is sending help as quickly as he can." Pause. "If you can hear me, please use something to tap once on the wall or the floor."

Slumped wearily against the wall, Annie tapped.

And then she just waited for morning.

~oOo~ 

Coulson stepped through the door into the cell, moving slowly and trying to look harmless. To his relief the door closed behind him. He could hear a quietly lilting voice as he did so, and found Mitchell sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, talking in a rambling, gentle voice. 

"How is he?" Coulson asked. 

"Scrambled," Mitchell replied. "Remember what he told us about how his magic could be contained?" 

"I saw the markings," Coulson agreed. "Are they-- ?"

"I think it's ink," Mitchell replied. "Not permanent."

"Thank God for that," Coulson said quietly. 

"It's still not good," Mitchell pointed out. 

"No, but it could be worse."

Loki had given no sign of noticing Coulson up to this point, but now he looked at him, frowning in what looked like painful concentration. Coulson addressed him in the most neutral tone he could manage. 

"Hi, Loki. I don't know if you remember me-- "

Loki's face crumpled. "You are-- I killed you. So you must be, must be a dream. Or-- "

"I'm not dead, and you didn't kill me," Coulson said. "You haven't done anything wrong." Which was, in a global sense, not true at all. He wondered whether, even in his confusion, Loki remembered that. 

"I have," Loki whispered, blinking his reddened eyes. Abruptly, he leaned forward, extending his hands with the palms toward Coulson, displaying the heavy black lines. "Look what-- they had to do this to me."

"That was a mistake," Coulson said, in the calmly professional voice Loki always seemed to find reassuring. He hoped it would work again this time. 

It didn't. Loki just shook his head miserably. "It is not-- they _know._ They _know_ what I am. They _must,_ because they-- " He looked at his hands as if he wasn't sure where they had come from, then let them fall into his lap. He whispered, "But I do not know _why_ I… I am sorry."

"It's all right," Mitchell soothed, which only seemed to upset Loki more. Coulson raised a hand in a "calm down" gesture, fidgeted at his suit jacket, and then let his own hands drop to his sides. 

In the left one, he held his cell phone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some readers have asked to be told when the H!Loki whump ends and it's safe for them to look again. This would be that point, although the comfort part of the equation has to wait for next chapter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** There's probably some minor accordioning of time in this section, with some things happening simultaneously while events may take more or less time in other realities.
> 
> Also, this is a month of long work days and weekends of family events, so have this short chapter instead of waiting until August for the next!
> 
> **Warnings:** None.

The mostly-black little cat was curled up on the pillow beside Loki's head when he woke. It squinted at him out of slitted eyes, then yawned hugely, making a tiny squeaking noise as it did. A moment later the other one came marching across Loki's chest and the two little creatures bumped heads, then wrapped their paws around each other and rolled, wrestling, off the pillow.

Loki found himself unwilling to watch the siblings play. Fortunately, he found it easy not to dwell on the thought. He found himself quite effectively distracted by how _well_ he felt: rested, without aches or pains, stronger than he had felt in--

\-- Well, since he could remember, actually. Tentatively, he tried to call on a little magic. Instead of the blankness he had felt within himself for so long, or the lancing pain that preceded the blankness, he thought he could feel something stir. It was almost as if it stretched like the little black cat. 

He rested a hand on his chest as though comforting a friend, then lay still for a moment, savouring the sensation of wellbeing and beginning to consider getting up to bathe. 

And then, from somewhere above his head, the smooth voice of the dwelling spoke: 

"Sir, I believe Miss Sawyer would appreciate your company downstairs. There was… an incident… in the night."

Loki froze for a heartbeat, and then sat up. He did not much like this business of disembodied voices in the walls, watching him-- _with contemptuous golden eyes--_ but even less he liked the idea of _an incident in the night._

"What happened?" he demanded, hurrying out of his sleeping clothes and back into those he had left on the floor by the bed. "Where is George? Is Annie-- ?"

_She is a spirit,_ he told himself sternly. Surely she could not be harmed. 

Except their adversaries were creatures of magic, and he had no idea of the extent of their powers.

_And besides, there is little purpose in you trying to assist her-- you are not the one she wants._ Even after everything else that had come to pass, Loki still had vivid memories of rebuffs in such circumstance.

Although-- there was no one else here to aid her. Even his-- even _Thor--_ was glad enough, in the past, to be helped by Loki if there was no one better on hand to do so. He remembered the humbled, desolate figure, soaking wet, sitting in the hard little chair and actually _looking at Loki,_ asking for a favour and meekly awaiting his answer.

Once, briefly, that memory-- and the memory of what came after-- had carried with it a hot, hard bubble of satisfaction: the knowledge that, even for a few moments, Thor had known what it was to be lost and alone and to know that no one and nothing in the Nine Realms cared what happened to you. That, for once, Loki had managed to hold Thor's attention and have an impact on him. 

The effect had been only momentary, and the satisfaction had long since dissipated. Thor was brighter and more beloved than ever, with no need to waste a moment's thought on the lost monster falling and falling. And when the fall ended… 

Well, Loki had no leisure, then, to reflect on having momentarily chastened the God of Thunder. Not when he was so thoroughly occupied with the entertainments of his captors. 

_Do not think of that._ For a moment the room spun as nausea threatened to overwhelm him. 

"Mr. Odinson?" asked the voice from the walls. 

Loki snapped back to the present, grateful for the rage that flashed through him and nearly overwhelmed the sudden yawning emptiness. 

_"Do not call me that,"_ he spat. 

"Very well, sir," the voice replied courteously. There was little satisfaction to be had here, or relief for his feelings. And besides, there were matters of more importance for him to consider.

"Where is Annie?" he asked as he made for the bedroom door.

"I am unable to say, sir," the voice said. Before Loki could snarl a response, it added, "As she is a spirit, I cannot sense her movements as I would a physical presence. However, several objects have moved in the entry hall in the past several minutes, and so I assume she is responsible. Also, Mr. Sands has just entered the house through the door near the kitchen."

Without another word, Loki jerked open the bedroom door and went down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor. Annie and her little black dog were in the entry hall, surrounded by what appeared to be the wreckage of a great deal of wooden furniture. Loki found himself almost running toward her. He arrived just as George, disheveled and weary-looking, appeared from the back of the house. The werewolf stopped, gaping foolishly at the mess. 

"What _happened?"_ he demanded, in his high-pitched voice, which saved Loki the trouble of asking.

"That vampire got in last night," Annie explained, her voice shaking. "Through the back door." She was pale and looked very tired-- which was hardly surprising, since she had apparently been alone with her fear for some hours. The time must have seemed endless. 

"He got _in?"_ George squeaked. By now his voice was so shrill the little dog's ears flattened in protest. "How could he get _in?_ Vampires can't come into a house unless they're invited."

Loki began to experience an upswell of resentment at the idea of George accusing Annie of letting such a creature into the house, but Annie shrugged and replied, 

"He said rules like that don't apply to Old Ones."

George surveyed the mess. "Well, apparently, being hit with a lot of furniture does."

"Yeah," Annie agreed, with a hysterical little giggle. And then she burst into tears. Loki stared at her, unable to move but yet wishing he could offer-- 

\-- and George went over to embrace her, making soothing noises at least a full scale lower than his protests had been. "Shh, shh, it's all right. It looks like you were brilliant," he said as he embraced her.

Loki did not disagree, but nevertheless he found himself stupidly hurt at the evidence Annie had not trusted him to lend her assistance.

"Why did you not call on me to help you?" he asked, and despite her distress he was unable to keep an accusation of his own from his voice. The look George gave him was accompanied by a reproachful echo of the werewolf's voice in his mind: _Why would you say a thing like that to Annie?_

Annie pulled away from George, wiping at her tears with the cuffs of her gray garment, and explained, 

"I _tried_ to. I couldn't wake you-- it must have been that stupid spell of Catherine's, to make you sleep through George's transformation. I shook you and called to you, but you didn’t wake, and I don’t know what happened to the security guards, I'm kind of afraid to find out, but then I had to-- I had to do _something,_ I couldn't just let him roam around the house while you were, while you couldn't defend yourself-- "

Loki tried not to stare at her, absorbing the realization that Annie could have hidden herself away, looking after herself while leaving him to his fate-- of course she could have, why should she risk harm on his account-- but she _had not done so._ She spoke as if this was obvious, and certainly George was nodding as if it was only to be expected, but-- 

"This was in defense of _me?"_ he demanded, voice not quite steady.

Annie wriggled her shoulders, the gesture making her seem small and uncertain. "Mostly," she said. "I suppose I was angry at the idea of him being in Tony's house, too, but I was scared that he'd find you and-- " She shook her head violently. "I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Oh," Loki said quietly, and could think of nothing further to say. 

"Did you see Doom at all?" George asked.

"He was around the front," Annie said. "He came up the driveway and then went into the wood near the house."

"Classic pincers maneuvre," George remarked, smiling faintly. "What happened to him?"

"Scamp," Annie explained. All of them looked at the little black dog, who wagged her tail at them. 

George looked around at the broken pieces of furniture and sighed. "Natasha's arriving this afternoon, with Nina. We had better get moving and clean this up."

"That's what I was thinking," Annie agreed. Loki said nothing, but when the others began to gather the fragments together, and arrange the remaining furniture so the damage would not be obvious, he helped them. 

~oOo~

"What the hell are you doing back here?" Barton demanded, looking up in irritation as Dunlap walked toward them.

"I've been hearing Coulson is back," Dunlap said evenly. "Is that true?"

Barton looked at Fury, who didn't react, and then looked at the floor. 

Stark and Rogers exchanged glances, and Rogers spoke up: 

"Yes. I mean, in a manner of speaking."

"Glad to see you, was he?" Dunlap asked.

Rogers' face flamed. "Not so you'd notice, actually." Dunlap looked curious, and Rogers mumbled, "It's… complicated."

"How does he feel about the prisoner?" the medic asked. 

"That's the complicated part," Rogers admitted. 

"How complicated?" Dunlap demanded. 

"Don't worry, he's not planning to hurt your _pet,"_ Barton muttered. Dunlap gave him a mildly disgusted look and remarked, 

"We should probably have a talk, sometime, about this idea that I need to be personally attached to a patient or prisoner in order to treat him appropriately. I don't personally give a shit about Loki of Asgard, and I know he's guilty of terrible things, but that doesn't preclude giving him necessary medical care. Or being concerned that someone with every reason to be personally angry at him might take advantage of the fact he's helpless right now."

Barton flushed and looked like he was maybe planning to respond, but Stark-- who was at the moment the only one looking at the monitor-- attracted everyone's attention with a sudden yelp:

"What the _fuck?"_

Everyone turned to look at Stark, then the monitor.

And then there was a general rush toward the cell door.

~oOo~

Doom's residence in the Highlands was a dark pile of stone and ancient timber, and from the outside one would have thought it had been abandoned for years. The interior was a great deal more comfortable, which-- although he would not say as much-- Doom appreciated after the events of the previous night.

Doom was ordinarily above the consideration of petty grievances, but now his very surroundings had him unsettled. His previous dwelling in this part of the world was a castle, in need of restoration perhaps but an appropriate setting for one such as himself. SHIELD had pried and spied and found it out-- he thought they must have employed a magic user in their investigations, possibly the tame Loki, which left him with a score to settle there-- and Doom had been forced to find another lodging in which to conduct his experiments on the magic of this wild northern land. (The fact the magic had so far proven intractable to him was another aggravation on top of all else.) 

Doom also found himself exasperated at the performance of his supposed _allies._ The servant, this fool of a Seth, had to be restrained by magic from killing all the human security agents outside Stark's mansion. Doom had ordered that they not be molested, and the vampire's disobedience infuriated him. Seth was a half-wit, but Wyndham was of an age and class to understand that Stark was _de facto_ lord of this manor, and so apt to take as a personal insult any harm to his servants. The Avengers would of course wish to frustrate Doom's plans as a matter of course, but adding a personal insult to one such as Stark would be the purest folly-- to say nothing of the fact the man would doubtless hold himself responsible for his servants' fate, and guilt would indeed be a spur to prick the sides of his intent. 

After Wyndham departed toward the back of the stone house, Doom had woven spells to control Seth, and baffle the security guards-- who would even now be wandering in confusion in the nearby forest. Wyndham was to access the house through the rear, Doom by the front, in a bid to overwhelm any defenses within.

Doom had gambled the magical rhinoceroses would not appear here, and so they had not. But as he approached the house through the wood, the black hellhound had charged baying out of the darkness. It quickly became clear the primitive magic he was unable to harness was perfectly willing to possess and empower the spectral dog. 

The creature's first attack nearly knocked Doom off his feet, and it narrowly dodged his return blast. Thereafter the battle had been nearly even, which in effect favoured the defender. Eventually, Doom had little choice but to withdraw-- to learn of the failure of Wyndham, as well. They had returned to Doom's lodge, there to plan their next attempt. 

And, in Doom's case, to begin to activate his Doombots.

~oOo~

As missions went, Clint had certainly done a lot scarier and more uncomfortable things for SHIELD, but finding himself pinned under the critical eyes of about a hundred little kids was definitely a new one on him. 

Otherwise, it wasn't bad. Carol, the head custodian-- caretaker-- was a nice lady who, once she'd been assured Loki wasn't any sicker and was just needed by SHIELD for a couple of days, accepted his cover story without question. 

The head teacher, Mrs. Kingston, was maybe a little more wary, and possibly wondered why a replacement had been provided for Loki this time, but she hadn't given him any trouble either.

The kids, however, especially the younger ones-- actually, especially one pair of little guys about eight years old-- watched his every move with expressions that suggested whatever he was doing, Loki was better at it. 

Which, having magic-- and also a certain flair for the dramatic that wasn't encouraged in spies-- Loki certainly did. Clint totally got that, but it still made for a long day. Spies weren't generally encouraged to call attention to themselves, so this experience was surprisingly unnerving. He was glad to head back to the pink house at the end of the day. George had left the keys and the suggestion to make himself at home. 

Clint had done so, to the extent of picking a room-- Mitchell's, by the guitar case and the general mess-- and dumping his duffle in the corner not occupied by Mitchell's laundry. Then he decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood, maybe get something to eat. 

He was halfway down the stairs when the knock sounded on the door. Prudence being a virtue in his line of work, he got his pistol out of its holster and stood a little back from the door as he pulled it open. 

"Yes?" 

The woman on the doorstep was a knockout, definite Bond girl material. But there was a frenetic buzz around her that argued against her being an agent of any kind: there was a definite loose-cannon vibe about her. She smiled at Clint with far too many teeth, made a move as if to enter the house, then stopped. Not as if remembering her manners-- as if something had stopped her. 

Clint didn't have Loki's nose for magic, or the other housemates' abilities to recognize supernatural creatures. But he'd been on the job for a pretty long time, and he was capable of putting two and two together. Vampires couldn't enter a residence without an invitation. 

Accordingly, he didn't offer one. 

"Help you?" he asked neutrally. 

"Where's Mitchell?" the woman demanded.

Clint holstered his pistol, which wouldn't do him any good anyway-- the sharp stake tucked into a special pocket of his jacket was another story-- and stepped out of the house, closing the door behind himself. 

"Why do you need to know?" he asked. 

The woman practically bared her teeth at him, then took a step sideways as if something had poked her in the ribs. Clint was puzzled for a second, then remembered and ventured a guess:

"Rhino?"

"Yes," the woman practically hissed. "As if I don't have enough to worry about. Is Mitchell here? The bastard promised to help me find Ivan."

Quickly running through the highlights of his briefing in his mind, Clint located "Ivan" and the corresponding name of this woman. 

"Daisy, right?" Startled, she nodded, and Clint went on, "The situation went critical overnight and Mitchell was sent to bring back our Loki. Ivan was helping keep the vampire situation here calm, is that right?"

"Yes," Daisy agreed. "And believe me, you don't want them stirred up. If they lose their heads, well, a lot of humans are going to lose theirs before this is over."

"Good point," Clint agreed, after a moment's consideration. He didn't bother to point out the fact SHIELD, or someone, was likely to wipe out the vampires: that wouldn't do a lot of innocent victims any good at all. "Okay, maybe I can help. What was Mitchell going to do for you?"

"He said he knows where the safe houses are. If they didn't just kill Ivan, he'll be in one of those."

"Would Mitchell have anything written down, do you suppose?"

"It's hard to say. He's a packrat, but he also moved around a lot before he came here." Daisy offered a smile that was an open invitation to walk into her parlour-- or his. "Invite me in and I'll help you look."

"Nice try," Clint replied, with a spider-to-the-fly smile of his own. "Meet me somewhere public in two hours and I'll tell you if I've found anything."

It was, he thought, a measure of her concern for this Ivan that she agreed, giving him the name of the pub around the corner. Imagining how he'd be feeling right now if it was Tash who was missing, Clint concluded her intentions were probably sincere. 

He'd bring along the stake anyway.

~oOo~

Coulson, without looking at Mitchell or moving his lips, said quietly, 

"I don't think he's in any shape to understand what we're going to do here, so we're going to have to carry him, and he might be scared enough to fight us. Hang on, all right?"

"Right," Mitchell said, and though he didn't move there was a sense of him coiling for action. Loki, apparently sensing a change in the atmosphere, turned a confused and alarmed face toward them. 

Coulson activated the spell on his cell phone. 

He hadn't taken much notice of the portal in the first place, but he was pretty sure this one was more elaborate to look at. It was impressive, really, sort of a Johnny Cash ring-of-fire effect with touches of the eye of Sauron. Who knew Strange had a sense of humour?

Loki whimpered and then, as Coulson feared, panicked when Mitchell took hold of him. This time Mitchell's soothing tones did nothing whatsoever to help matters.

And not that Coulson was at all pleased to see Loki at such a low physical ebb, but if he wasn't in his right mind it was probably just as well his strength was well below normal, too. He grabbed the sorcerer's other arm and, with Mitchell, manhandled him toward the portal.

Behind them, Coulson was aware of the cell door flying open. 

He wrapped his arms around Loki, held onto Mitchell's arm as tight as he could, and threw all three of them into the ring of fire.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** Another late chapter. Sorry gang, the first couple of weeks of July were tied up with last-minute preparations for a 50th anniversary party for my parents, and then the party and family visiting afterward. But it was a blast, featuring good food, lots of family and friends, a tropical storm, torrential rain and wind, widespread power outages, downed trees all over town, and (amazingly) no siblings murdering one another in the planning stages. And then I had to drive home by an unfamiliar route because the road I normally take from my parents' place washed out into a sinkhole. It was about all the excitement I could stand!
> 
> **Warnings:** In which things do not precisely get better, but at least don't get worse. Another relatively short chapter, in case life interferes with my writing some more.

The cleanup having been accomplished, Loki found himself with no desire whatsoever to encounter George's mortal-- or, even more urgently, Agent Romanov. He was aware this was not the same Romanov he had encountered on the helicarrier, and indications were she would hold no ill feelings toward the Loki of this reality. He still felt no desire to make her acquaintance.

For his own part, he counted his skirmish with Romanov as one of his few victories in that whole miserable campaign. The fact it had resulted from no especial plan of his own did not lessen the amusement as he recalled her misinterpretation of his reference to monsters-- he had been speaking of himself, not Banner. But the recollection of her scuttling away, clutching a scrap of supposition she then used to harass Dr. Banner into nearly destroying the helicarrier and everyone on it, was perhaps the only joke not entirely on himself since he fell from the Bifrost, and he was disposed to enjoy it. 

The fact her mistake had served his own interests-- or rather the mission forced upon him-- was of little importance to him now. He had indeed convinced the defenders to focus their attention on himself, although he had failed in the ultimate aim of completely distracting them, and someone-- Selvig?-- had obviously solved the riddle of how close the portal before the main attack force came through.

Although there would have been no reward, no throne, for Loki even had he been victorious-- Stark was quite right about that, and even within the prison of his mind Loki had certainly known as much-- and it was only the violence of the Hulk that had returned him to himself, Loki was not much inclined to be grateful, nor to wish to reflect upon his defeat. 

He therefore, rather than encountering Romanov, preferred the peace of this comfortable bedchamber-- he chose not to reflect upon the identity of the one providing this refuge-- and the peculiarities of _Men At Arms,_ the book lent him by George. 

It was indeed a most peculiar book. As George had explained during the air journey, this was not a factual account of life upon any known realm. Apparently the inhabitants of Midgard had conceived a practice of not only writing down their myths and sagas, but of inventing new ones for their mutual amusement. 

Loki was not sure he was exactly amused by what he was reading-- in the privacy of his mind he could admit he understood very little of it-- but it gave him a distraction from the thought of the newcomers. 

The recurring references in the book to the possible return of a king, and the sense of this being an undesirable state of affairs, were disturbing to him.

Except inasmuch as they also felt strangely comforting. Loki chose not to think very hard about why he might, in his deepest heart, find this to be so. 

He was alone with his thoughts. The little cats had left him, had scrabbled and squeaked at the door until he opened it and left them to explore the great house. The little black dog was Annie's shadow, and therefore must be following at her heels. Loki was accustomed to being alone, had been resigned to it these many years, but instead of the resentful loneliness of his youth or the misery of more recent days, he now felt almost peaceful. It helped to know that, if he chose, he could seek out Annie and not be turned away.

"Sir?" the voice in the walls spoke up suddenly. Loki did not jump-- he was not so _soft_ as to be startled by a phantom servant, not after everything he had endured-- but he was accustomed to domestics waiting to be addressed.

"Yes?" he said sharply. The voice was perfectly composed as it offered, 

"If you wish to listen to music as you read, I could play some for you." 

Loki considered. He was, of course, used to silence. It did not trouble him. Or rather, it _had not,_ in the days before the void. Now he thought, perhaps, a little music would be pleasant. He even remembered the name of the _disc_ that had captured his attention in Annie's house, and spoke it. 

"I do not have access to that particular work," said the voice. "But I do have another by the same artist, if you would wish me to play it." 

"Very well," Loki said, aware he was being ungracious. Reluctantly, he added, "Thank you." 

"You are most welcome, sir," the voice said imperturbably, and the music began. Loki returned to his book, although he now found it rather difficult to concentrate on the page. Midgardian music was far more intrusive than its Asgardian counterpart, and the voice of the singer pressed upon his consciousness: 

_"Poor man wanna be rich_   
_Rich man wanna be king_   
_And a king ain't satisfied 'til he rules everything-- "_

Loki abruptly stood up and hurled the book against the opposite wall.

~oOo~

There were people who unpacked as soon as they arrived somewhere, and there were people who lived out of their luggage for the duration. During the past winter holidays, Clint had arrived at the conclusion Loki's friend George, and possibly Loki as well-- or maybe Annie-- were the first kind of people. Clint, on the other hand-- and Tash as well, which was fortunate when they were staying somewhere together-- left everything in his duffle to be fished out as needed. 

The habit naturally made a lot of sense for people in a profession in which they might have to clear out of a place in a hell of a hurry. 

It was also helpful when you had to search the room you were staying in and wanted to keep your own belongings separate from those of the actual occupant. 

It was absolutely frigging _vital_ when the room you were staying in and needed to search belonged to the kind of slob who apparently worked on the principle of "if I leave it on the floor I'll always know where it is." Looking at the completely obscured wooden floors around him, Clint could only wonder how that was working out for Mitchell.

Then he carried his duffle down the hall to a large, tidy room with a pretty flowered cover on the bed and a framed colour drawing of the four housemates hung up over the fireplace. You didn't need to look at the empty closets to know the room belonged to Annie. He set the duffle in front of the cold fireplace and went back down the hall to face his task. 

Okay. His own gear out, you could safely assume everything in this room either belonged to Mitchell, or had been put there by him. It was impossible to imagine the other, neater housemates hanging out in here. It was just bad luck the vampire was the slob in the household.

He definitely should have told Daisy to meet him in three hours instead of two. Seriously, this room looked like a case for archeologists, or at least Indiana Jones. 

Fifty-six painstaking minutes later, the floor was much tidier-- Mitchell would probably never be able to find anything he owned ever again, and serve him right-- and Clint was able to move the big wooden wardrobe a fraction to see if there was anything behind or under it. 

As a matter of fact, there was: Clint was just able to see the edge of a small notebook peeking out from underneath. The wardrobe stood on four low feet so there was a gap of maybe half an inch between its bottom and the floor. Given Mitchell's habits it was quite possible the notebook had been accidentally kicked under there at some time in the three or four years he'd occupied the room. Or, since the wardrobe looked quite old, it was also possible the book had started out in a drawer and slipped through a gap. 

Or perhaps it had been hidden. Mitchell was a vampire, and therefore a lot stronger than he looked. He might have simply moved the wardrobe when he needed the notebook. 

Whatever the explanation, Clint needed to see the notebook. If it contained long-forgotten grocery lists, well, so be it. 

Clint wasn't a vampire, but he too was stronger than he looked. Taking care not to pull it over on top of himself, he was able to rock and walk one corner of the wardrobe a couple of inches from the wall, and then wedge himself behind it and get his fingertips on the book. Holding his breath and cursing internally, he edged the notebook out to where he could grab it. 

After all that trouble he was pleased to see his prize was actually an address book. Its brown fake-leather cover was cracked and worn, and the pages were yellowed with age. Clint sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped carefully through. The entries, in ink and pencil, were so faded he had to move closer to the bedside lamp to read them. 

None of the entries was new, which made sense considering Mitchell had a cell phone that probably contained his current address book. Not that it mattered: Mitchell had been, as he called it, "on the wagon" at least since he and George decided to set up housekeeping together. Which didn't mean all the addresses in Mitchell's phone were innocent, but it _did_ mean the entries in this book probably dated from a time when Mitchell and the Avengers would not have been inviting each other over for beers.

Under "H," for instance, was an entry for _Herrick,_ a name Clint was pretty sure he'd heard Mitchell and his friends refer to, with six telephone numbers written one under the other, all but the last with a neat line scored through it. 

Clint didn't recognize any of the other names or addresses listed, which wasn't of much concern to him right now-- although he was certainly interested in hanging onto this book and maybe investigating some of the entries at a later date. He wondered if he should at least bring the idea up with Mitchell.

At the moment he wasn't sure what he was looking for, or if he'd recognize it when he found it. Something anomalous. Something that didn't fit. 

He nearly missed it as his eyes scanned over the pages. There were no defined boxes separating the entries, it was just an unlined notebook with lettered tabs, the entries written in cramped, messy handwriting, all the information running together.

If Clint hadn't been reading with such attention, he might have missed the three addresses that didn't have names attached to them. 

They were on the page for _S_ , scattered among other entries. This page was even more cluttered than the rest of the book, which might have been deliberate. It was very unlikely he would have spotted them if he hadn't been reading so closely. Clint marked the page and looked carefully through the rest of the book, where he found nothing else that looked at all unusual. 

_S_ could stand for _safe house_ , after all.

Well, he wasn't jumping to any conclusions, or calling off his search. But it struck him there was a fair chance this was looking for.

He dug out his cell phone and called SHIELD HQ in London. 

~oOo~

Loki was still struggling, and Coulson and Mitchell were still hanging on tight, when they all stumbled through the portal. Just in case Loki was irrational enough to bolt back through the portal in the other direction, Coulson made a point of dragging them all halfway across the room before he let go. Mitchell still had his arms around Loki-- who, Coulson thought, was a fraction less panicky with only one person hanging onto him.

Behind them, Coulson could hear a kind of sizzling noise as the ring of fire closed.

And a muffled oath. 

_Oh, for the love of God._

He didn't much want to turn around, frankly-- although that was partly because the look on Mitchell's face was so entertaining-- but he did it anyway. Although he might possibly have had his eyes closed as he did.

"What the _fuck?"_ asked a very familiar voice. Resigned, Coulson opened his eyes, to see-- _of course--_ the other reality's Avengers-- plus Fury and, for good measure, Dunlap-- standing where the portal had been and looking bewildered.

Coulson might have felt kind of sorry for them if Thor's next reaction hadn’t been to start toward Loki-- who was of course still completely out of it and probably didn't have enough magic to pull a bunny out of a hat-- his face dark with anger.

"Brother, what is the meaning of this? What have you done?" he demanded, his voice loud and threatening.

Coulson had a moment to wonder exactly how long this Thor had been in the habit of blaming Loki whenever anything went wrong-- and, in fairness, whether the habit was justified-- before he started forward, hands up and sincerely hoping this Thor shared the real one's unwillingness to pulverize unarmed humans. And then a hissing snarl behind him indicated the game had changed again, and _(of course!)_ not for the better.

He glanced over his shoulder. Mitchell had stepped in front of Loki-- _good--_ and was preparing to face down Thor-- _bad--_ his eyes solid black orbs and his canine teeth erupting into fangs-- _worse._ So, so much worse.

"Mitchell, _stand down,"_ Coulson commanded. It was nearly a hundred years since the First World War ended so there was no reason for the former soldier to obey an order, but he could at least try to get Mitchell's attention. 

In the meantime Stark was still babbling, although really you could hardly blame him:

"Holy _fuck,_ he's a _vampire,_ I _said_ he was a vampire, didn't I _say--_ "

"Stark, shut up," Coulson and Fury both ordered at the same time. Stark did and, above their heads, a familiar calm voice announced, 

"Gentlemen and lady, I have informed Mr. Stark of your arrival. He should be here any-- "

"Great, you've got him, is he all right-- Jesus, Mitchell, put those away-- what the hell-- ?" Tony Stark, the real, genuine Tony Stark, emerged from a hallway and came to an abrupt halt, looking around in surprise. 

Fortunately, unlike his babbling _doppelganger,_ this Tony had quite a lot of experience with magical hijinks. Instead of being floored by the appearance of a second Tony Stark, he focused on the immediate problem, glancing at Mitchell and saying, 

"Really, Mitchell, could you just calm the hell down? Maybe take Loki to one of the bedrooms for a little lie-down. JARVIS can direct you. Coulson, I wasn't expecting guests but maybe we could all have a drink and just sort this out." 

"I hadn't intended to bring anyone else back," Coulson admitted. "And incidentally, where _are_ we?" The big room with its high ceilings and walls of windows was in much the style of Tony's apartment in the New York tower, and Coulson was pretty sure he'd never been here before.

"London," Tony explained. "Strange showed up a while ago and said he thought this was the safest place for you to return to. Really, guys, sit down," he appealed to the Avengers. Any chance of him offering drinks evaporated as he took a closer look at Loki. "Okay-- what happened to you?" 

Tony took a step toward Loki, stopped when the sorcerer recoiled, and then turned toward the newcomers with a look on his face that Coulson himself couldn't have topped. "Someone tell me those markings will come off. Who the hell did that? JARVIS, could you please ask Bruce to stay wherever he is for a few minutes? And ask Steve to come out here?"

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS said smoothly. 

"They're ink," Rogers spoke up. "We didn't need the effect to be permanent, and Thor-- "

_"Thor_ suggested it?" Tony demanded. "Did he also tell you that if you _had_ gone with a permanent option you'd have _killed Loki?"_

"That is not true," Thor protested, angry and defensive but still not clobbering humans. His version of the Avengers looked at each other with expressions that suggested they were getting tired of learning things Thor either hadn't told them or didn't know about his brother.

"Different reality," Coulson spoke up, because the last thing they needed was to get sidetracked again-- or into an argument that might cause Banner to Hulk out. "I don't think they knew what the effects were going to be on this Loki."

"If they're ink," Mitchell, who fortunately had calmed himself down when everyone quit making overt threats, cut in, "then all we need is some rubbing alcohol or hand sanitizer. Actually, Coulson-- "

"Right," Coulson agreed, reaching into his inside pocket for the little bottle Annie had given him. 

"Hold it right there, Coulson," Fury began.

"Wrong reality, Colonel," Coulson said, and passed the bottle to Mitchell. "Thor, do you have the key to those shackles? He's not your responsibility here." 

"Seriously, everyone, sit down," Tony said, indicating the sofas arranged on the far side of the big room. This time it sounded a lot like an order. Surprisingly, the other Avengers obeyed. "Hi, Steve," he added, glancing in the direction from which he himself had come. "Things are a little confusing at the moment but I promise I'll explain everything as soon as I understand it myself. Do you know where Thor is? Not this Thor, obviously, I know where he is, _our_ Thor."

"JARVIS?" Steve said, glancing up. 

"I will ascertain his whereabouts," the AI replied. 

"Oh, good. And find out where he is, too. In the meantime, Other Thor, can we have the key to the handcuffs, please?"

Coulson thought it was more confusion than anything that made Thor hand over what looked like an ornate Allen key. One of Tony's lesser-known superpowers-- one his alter-ego didn't seem to have, or had lost track of-- was the ability to talk so fast people sometimes surrendered out of sheer bewilderment.

Speaking of which, Loki had apparently figured out that Mitchell wasn't trying to hurt him, because he was being pretty cooperative about the hand sanitizer, and he let Coulson approach him with the Allen key. 

Reading between the lines, it was obvious something ugly had happened when Loki's magic was bound. Coulson sincerely hoped it didn't get nasty when it was released. He inserted the key and twisted. The shackles opened and hit the floor with a crash, just as Mitchell also let go of Loki. 

The dazed sorcerer wobbled on his feet for a moment, looking around at everyone out of glazed eyes. For a second it seemed he was going to take the easy way out and just faint, which would frankly be a relief. Mitchell hastily moved into position to break his fall. 

Then, abruptly, Loki's eyes widened, pupils blowing up like he'd sustained a serious head injury. He took a step backward and glanced around again, this time obviously seeing everyone in the room and apparently forming an opinion on the level of threat present. 

"Loki, it's okay-- " Mitchell began.

Before he could complete the reassuring sentence, there was a familiar green flash. The baggy grey sweatpants hit the floor, empty, as something tiny went darting toward the ceiling. Mitchell cursed, Coulson resisted the urge, and from somewhere up in the exposed beams of the ceiling came a shrill whistling alarm call: _"Dee dee dee dee."_

Glancing up, Coulson could see the tiny grey-and-black face of a bird looking down at him. 

_Perfect._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Just for fun, readers interested in seeing more of Loki's most recent transformation might enjoy going to Youtube and searching for "alpha chickadee caching". It will bring you to a nifty little video of a chickadee taking seeds from a woman's hand… and then caching them about her person. It's cute and funny and should dispel any lingering effects of whump. 
> 
> Although there isn't any whump in this chapter. Honest!
> 
> **Warnings:** None needed.

"Holy shit, did you know he could do that? I didn't know he could do that!" Stark was spluttering, looking up at the ceiling. "What the hell-- ?"

"Could everyone just be quiet," Mitchell requested, also looking up. "Loki? It's okay. Please come down."

"His shoulder doesn't seem to be bothering him anymore," Coulson said thoughtfully.

Above them, in the vaulted ceiling, the tiny gray and black shape hopped along an exposed rafter and repeated its sharp cry: _"Dee dee dee."_

"What did he even _do?"_ Barton asked, watching the little creature with suspicion.

"He turned himself into a bird," Mitchell explained the obvious, without taking his eyes off his friend. 

"Yes, but-- " Barton began, and then couldn't seem to find anything else to say. 

Steve glanced at the newcomers and took pity on their confusion. "He's a shapeshifter. He can temporarily turn himself into just about anything, so long as it's alive."

"As far as we know," Tony spoke up. "Although come to think of it we've never seen him turn into a tree, for instance. Mitchell, could he turn himself into a tree? Or a daisy?"

"I have no idea," Mitchell replied. "I can't imagine why he'd want to-- it doesn't sound like much fun."

"Yes, but what possessed him to-- ?" Barton gestured at the bird, who hopped away down the rafter and _dee dee dee'd_ again, this time shrilling out a string so long they all lost count. 

"I assume he panicked," Coulson said dryly. 

"He really doesn't like to be locked up," Mitchell added, still without looking around. "My guess is, when his magic was set free he couldn't control the impulse to escape." 

"I would have expected him to just bolt altogether," Tony said thoughtfully. "You know-- jump into Yggdrasil and head back to Bristol."

"He can do that?" Stark asked faintly. 

"Well, he doesn't know where he is," Mitchell answered Tony, ignoring the other Stark. "He needs to know where he is and where he's going in order to travel that way." 

Barton wasn't finished yet: "So he could have turned into something else? Like, like-- "

"Like a tiger, for instance?" Mitchell shot back, taking a guess at what Barton was trying to say. "Yes, sure, although I can't see what good that would do him. Unless he wanted to eat one of you, and he'd have to be pretty hungry-- you _have_ fed him since he's been with you, yeah?" He smiled at the extra Avengers, rather nastily, and then returned his attention to the bird. In a completely different tone he pleaded, "Come on, Loki, you're safe. Really. Please come down." He glanced at his American friends. "Do either of you know what kind of a bird he is, or anything about them? You know how he can get caught up in the animal form's instincts."

"He's a chickadee," Tony explained. "You don't have them in England? They're really common in North America."

"I've never seen one before," Mitchell said. He looked up again, wrinkling his forehead in puzzlement. "I wonder where he's seen them?"

"Probably last Thanksgiving, when he and Annie came out to the country house," Tony replied. He smiled tensely. "I had to come drag him inside for dinner, he was in the back yard feeding birds with-- " 

He stopped, eyes widening. Steve raised a hand.

"I'll go get him. None of you move," he added over his shoulder at the other Avengers, and ran from the room.

He was back a few minutes later with Bruce, who fortunately seemed mostly amused by the situation. Of course, he hadn't seen the state Loki was in when he came through the portal. He folded his arms and joined Mitchell in gazing up at the rafters, where Loki fluttered around still repeating his sharp cry. 

"What frightened him?" Bruce asked finally. 

"He arrived that way," Coulson replied flatly. 

"He wasn't in very good shape to begin with," Mitchell amplified, "and I think he was pretty scared when we dragged him through the portal."

"And still is, by the sound of it," Bruce noted. At several interrogative looks he explained, "That _dee-dee-dee_ is a distress call. The more _dees,_ the higher the threat level perceived by the bird. Apparently the longest recorded string is something like twenty-three, from a chickadee in the presence of a small owl." 

"Oh," said Mitchell. 

"Great," said Coulson. "So how can we convince him to come down?"

Bruce shrugged. "I'm not sure. If he really thinks he's a bird right now, we might just have to keep quiet and let him calm himself down. Surely then he'll remember who he is?"

Mitchell looked worried. "The problem is, he didn't seem very strong when we rescued him, so I don't know how long he'll be able to hold onto a transformation into a form that small. I'm afraid he'll suddenly change back and fall." 

Bruce whistled, looking up at the high ceiling. "Got it. Well, the first thing to do is probably to clear out some of these people, if they're worrying him."

"Right," Tony agreed. He turned to the other Avengers. "There's plenty of room for you all out on the balcony. Doors are back there, through those curtains-- "

"Bird, Tony," Steve reminded him quietly.

"Right. New plan: there's a media room down that hallway, third door on your left. Off you go." 

Rogers and Banner stood up immediately, then Dunlap, with Stark following a beat later. The SHIELD representatives and Thor hesitated, but when Rogers inclined his head and the bird cried out again, they also got to their feet and filed off together. 

"Okay," Bruce said, still watching Loki, "I suppose he's going to want a bathrobe or something when he changes back. Steve?" Steve nodded and went off down the hall he had come from. "Tony, you wouldn't happen to have some sunflower seeds, or maybe peanuts? Even cereal might work."

"Probably have some peanuts in the bar," Tony said, walking over to check. A moment later he came back with a couple of small plastic bags crackling in his hands. 

"Airline peanuts, Tony?" Mitchell asked. "You don't travel by airline."

"Of course I don't," Tony replied. "It's a little game Pepper and I play sometimes. She has a flight attendant's uniform-- "

Mitchell rolled his eyes and pointedly turned to Bruce. "Now what?"

"Now," Bruce said, tearing open one of the bags, "you stand here quietly with your hand held out. Come on," he prompted, and Mitchell hastily moved to obey. Bruce emptied the packet of peanuts into his hand. Above their heads, Loki had fallen silent. Bruce smiled encouragingly at Mitchell. "Okay. Stand still and wait."

Mitchell stood still, and waited.

~oOo~

Loki looked down at the two-legs below him, watching them with a suspicion that, as his fear ebbed, was swiftly turning into curiosity. 

His memories of the last few minutes were quite confused. He remembered being frightened, remembered an oppressive sense of threat against which he could not defend himself, an overwhelming desire to flee, to _move._ And then there had been the welcome flood of his magic, unbound, rushing back, the knowledge he was no longer helpless.

He was too muddled and panicky to try and think through the most appropriate course of action. He had been trapped, had wanted to escape, and-- in a definite case of the wish being father to the deed-- he now let the flood of emotion twist around the inrushing magic, and then wash over him.

The next thing he knew, he was airborne.

The bird form was small and quick, made for evasion. The room was full of threats, the bird still knew that, and he flew into the rafters where it was safer, shrilling a warning as he did so.

After a few minutes, however, the immediacy of the threat began to fade. Loki's mind was so muddled that it permitted the bird to be uppermost, and the bird did not perceive the same dangers Loki had. He could see no owls, no hawks, nothing that flew or climbed and might hurt him. The only creatures here were the two-legs who walked around below him. The bird was not much afraid of two-legs-- they were not quick, they could not fly, and he had never seen one catch or harm a bird like himself. 

They were _interesting,_ too. Loki watched them with the greatest curiosity, fluttering along the rafter as one of the two-legs walked back and forth below, opening and closing things and finally carrying a crackly _something_ back to the others. He very much wanted to know what the crackly _something_ was. 

By this time it would be difficult to say how much of the curiosity belonged to the bird, and how much to Loki.

One of the two-legs stood alone, a hand extended in front of him, palm up. There was something in the hand, something that had come from the crackling thing. What could it be? Loki-- or the bird-- wanted to know. 

There was only one way to find out: he dropped from the rafter, his wings automatically flapping several times and then closing for a beat so that he rose and fell in the air, an erratic flight pattern intended to confuse predators. He flew over the two-legs' head, experimentally, then back up to the rafter. 

This time his call was a two-note, falling whistle: _"Fee_ -bee." 

From below him came a response, the same two whistled notes: _"Fee_ -bee." 

This was very startling. Loki peeked over the edge of the rafter, at the two-legs looking up at him. He whistled again, and one of the two-legs whistled back. He hopped along the rafter, looking down at them and whistling. Then, once again, he dropped from the rafter and flew toward the creatures below him. He fluttered around the one still standing quietly with his hand extended. Emboldened, Loki aimed for the fingers, reached out with his tiny claws, and neatly landed on them.

There were nuts in the palm of the two-legs' hand. Loki picked one up and flew to the rafter to eat it. Then he flew back, landing with more confidence, to pick up another nut. This time he retreated to the ceiling and tucked it into an angle where two rafters met. Doing this was somehow comforting, so he flashed back down to the two-legs to do it again, and then once more. Below him a voice-- suddenly quite comprehensible-- asked, 

"What is he doing now?"

"I think he's caching peanuts in your rafters," the other voice replied in amusement. 

"That should make the cleaning staff happy," the first voice grumped.

_Tony and Bruce were their names. And Mitchell was the one with his hand extended._

_Mitchell and Tony and Bruce._

He knew their names, and what they were saying. And he was beginning to feel quite peculiar. He whistled again, to encourage himself, but the answering whistle made little impression on him. The rafter no longer seemed like a sensible place for him to be. Instead, the large soft-looking thing-to-sit-on-- _sofa--_ was beginning to seem attractive. 

He fluttered down from the ceiling, made a turn around Mitchell, and decided not to land on his fingers. He felt very strange: dizzy and much too warm. The sofa was a nice large target, and that was where he landed. Turned around, registering the feeling of smooth hide under his feet. 

He had the sensation of letting something go, and then of being much too large and-- disorientingly-- devoid of feathers. 

And then he was sitting on the sofa, half-covered by a gray robe Tony was wrapping around him. His shoulder hurt again. All the faces looking down at him were frowning, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"Welcome back," said Tony. "How are you feeling?"

Loki shrank back into the sofa's embrace. Only the fact he lacked the energy to transform again kept him in his Aesir shape. 

"Guys, just back up a minute," Mitchell said quietly. "Give him a second."

Everyone did, and Loki felt himself breathe more freely.

And then, from outside, there came a great crash of thunder. Loki jumped and clutched at the robe.

~oOo~

Loki was pacing the bedchamber when someone knocked on the door. The knock was firmer and louder than the kind of soft tap he associated with Annie. George, presumably, was entirely absorbed by the company of his mortal woman. Logically, then, the person knocking on the door was Agent Romanov. 

He still did not want to meet her. Until now, nearly everyone he met here had been so far gone in sentiment as to assume the best of him, assume he was like their own, their _tame_ Loki. Romanov would be many things, but sentimental was not one of them. He had as yet little energy for sparring, and so would prefer to avoid circumstances in which it would be necessary. 

His feeling of weariness as he considered the idea was purely physical, not at all the result of imagining an end to this little interlude of peace. 

On the other hand, his nerves were far too jangled to read, and pacing was not sufficient to hold his attention. It was the fault of the music-- he had finally to order JARVIS to cease playing it. The music was loud, the words uncouth and largely incomprehensible… but every so often he was startled into full attention by lines like _"freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose"--_ which, given his recent past, cut rather too close to the bone for comfort-- or _"he's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction"--_ which gave him the uncomfortable feeling there might be creatures on this miserable world capable of understanding him far better than he had ever imagined possible. 

Once, a very long time ago, he might have welcomed that. Yearned after it. It was difficult to remember-- those days ended long ago, and by now the idea felt like yet another invasion. As things now stood he preferred the innocent friendliness of Annie, George, and Mitchell (who asked so little of him it was hard to imagine how he would eventually disappoint them and earn their rejection.) 

And… well, whatever it was that had possessed Thor. He had better sense than to trust in it, even if this Thor was genuinely attached to his own brother. He knew it could not last, not for him. Still, the novelty was… pleasant. 

Pleasant or no, he was hardly fool enough to count on such comforts. (He wondered whether the other Loki had, and what sort of treatment he might be facing now. Picturing Annie's distress at that served, a little, to temper his amusement at the thought.) 

And all of it, from the book to the music to the situation in which he found himself, were unsettling enough that, suddenly, facing Romanov seemed the lesser evil. Loki crossed the room to the door and, as another knock sounded, opened it. 

"Hi, Loki. I'm Natasha Romanov," said the red-haired young woman standing there. 

"Indeed," Loki replied, stepping forward to block the doorway. This chamber was his, at least for as long as he was here, and he had no intention of permitting her to enter it.

Romanov moved backward to lean against the opposite wall, her posture relaxed but alert. "Annie tells me you had a bit of a rough night here," she said conversationally.

"Annie did," Loki clarified, and then heard himself adding, "She was very brave."

"Annie is," Romanov agreed, as though voicing a fact known to all. Her calm expression did not change as she added, "I understand your rough time happened before you got here." 

Loki thought back to his last moment in the cell, when he saw the light and believed himself to be dying. _Had_ been dying-- had he not been taken, had Annie and her friends not found someone to help him, had they not cared for him and seen to his needs… 

"It was not pleasant," he agreed. 

"Glad you're here, then," Romanov said courteously. Loki inclined his head with a restrained smile. He sensed no malice in the human, but even at his weakest he would have known she was hardly being truthful with him. It was possible she cared for the Loki who belonged here, who was her comrade, but she would not be so careless or trusting as to accord the same feeling to him. 

It was of little matter-- if she chose to pretend to civility, he was willing to go along. 

"Thank you," he replied, his cool smile unchanged. Then, in a distant tone, he went on, "Do you require something of me?"

"Actually, I do," Romanov replied. "Or at least I would very much appreciate your help. Annie and George tell me there were security guards posted here last night, when Doom and the vampire came."

Loki considered. He seemed to recall something being said about guards-- though he had, in truth, paid very little attention. 

"And what of them?" he asked, his tone matching hers for civility.

"We don't know," Romanov explained. "None of them has reported in, and the vampire Annie encountered suggested they had probably been killed." Loki raised an eyebrow-- if the men were dead, there was little to be done for them. Romanov went on, "Annie and I are going out to look for them. I'd be glad if you'd join us."

It was, Loki thought, not for nothing that she mentioned Annie. It could of course be an appeal she knew would work on the other Loki, as opposed to any immediate insight she had gained into him. Regardless, though he nodded. Having no wish to give Romanov a reason to return to this room, he followed her downstairs.

George and his human friend were not in sight, though Loki could hear sounds from the kitchen that suggested they might be preparing a meal. He certainly hoped so: what with the time required for cleaning, breakfast had been a sketchy meal and the beginnings of hunger-- and the anxiety that went with it-- did not improve his mood.

"All right," Romanov said. "If you don't mind, we'll stick together. None of us know these woods very well, and we don't know what's out there." 

_Nor do you know whether you can trust me,_ Loki added silently. There was little sting in the thought: of course she did not trust him. There was no reason she should, and he did not care for her trust. He was long past the days when he wished for such things, to be one of a true group of comrades, to be looked to as anything other than a last resort. That Loki had died in the void, should not have lived as long as he had.

He was wondering whether it would have been better for everyone if the Loki who wished, who _hoped,_ had died long ago-- had died altogether-- when there was a buzzing sound from Romanov's jacket. She produced a small device, held it to her ear, turned away to speak softly. 

Loki's ears were very sharp, and he heard all that was said. By the time Romanov turned back, he had composed his expression into one of blank unconcern.

Romanov did not even look at him. "That was Tony," she said, addressing Annie. "Coulson and Mitchell are back, and they've got Loki with them." 

Loki was very careful not to look at Annie. 

~oOo~

Daisy was ten minutes early to their meeting. Clint was fifteen, and so was sitting at a table with his back to the wall when she entered the pub. There were only a couple of other patrons in the place and all of them turned to look as Daisy sauntered across the room like a supermodel with a murderous streak. She sat down in the chair across the table from Clint, ignoring the pint he had provided. 

"Well?" she asked, her voice a throaty purr that did very little to conceal her anxiety. Once again imagining himself in the same situation with regard to Tash, Clint found himself sympathetic.

Which didn't mean he dropped his guard. 

Clint pushed a sheet of notepaper across the table toward her. The three suspect addresses were neatly written on it.

"Any of these look familiar to you?" he asked. "Ever visited them?" Daisy considered, frowning, and then shook her head. "Okay. Do you know where they are?"

"Those two, yes," Daisy replied, indicating the second and third address. "At least I know the neighbourhoods. I'm not sure about the first one. Is Ivan in one of those places?"

She should probably be more realistic about the possibility Ivan was already dead, but Clint chose not to mention it. It had probably occurred to her, and there was no reason to be cruel. 

"He might be," was all he had the heart to say. "I asked my people to check up on the ownership of these residences, and it's the same in all three cases. And equally hard to trace. I think it's possible those are the safe houses Mitchell told you about."

Daisy's attention sharpened. "Then what are we waiting for?" she asked, making to rise.

"Nothing," Clint replied, pushing aside his own barely-touched pint and getting to his feet. As Daisy turned for the door, he made sure the stake in his jacket was easy to get at.

He was sympathetic, sure, but that didn't mean he was _stupid._

~oOo~

The crash of thunder was so loud it got the attention of everyone waiting in the media room, and they lost no time in rushing back out to the big room to see what was going on. 

Stark, who had the disorienting feeling of being in his own home, was in the lead as the group emerged from the hallway. He really shouldn't have been surprised to realize the source of the thunder was-- _of course!--_ another Thor. 

Even if he hadn't been prepared for something like this-- even if the Thor he was used to hadn't been right behind him-- Stark wouldn't have made any mistake about this prince of Asgard. This one definitely wasn't the guy he knew. He probably wasn't any taller than the regular Thor, or blonder, but he _looked--_

Well, he looked bigger, somehow. More golden, or something. 

Actually, Stark realized, he looked an awful lot like Aslan, the lion from the Narnia stories. 

Aslan-Thor paid no attention at all to the newcomers, not even his own alter-ego. He was completely focused on the sofa, and the cowering figure of what was presumably his own adopted brother. Stark, knowing what he did about Asgardian family dynamics, had a momentary flash of sympathy for Loki, whose day seemed about to get even worse. 

Except there was a strange expression on Thor's face. It was one Stark had seen before, of course-- on the helicarrier, at the very beginning of everything, when Thor learned about Selvig, when he thought Loki might go after Jane Foster. When they found out about Coulson, when they were being briefed about Barton.

Stark had seen Thor look concerned before-- worried, even. It would have been unnatural, considering what they'd been through together, if he _hadn't_ been worried about people he cared for. It was just weird beyond words to see that expression on his face as he looked at Loki. 

"Brother," Aslan-Thor rumbled, "how glad I am to see you returned."

Stark glanced at the huddled creature on the sofa, and didn't think much of the chances of a happy reunion. 

~oOo~

Everything was still very confused. He was no longer a bird, and even had he the strength to change back he now had the sense to realize that form was a poor choice in terms of safety or self-defense. His shoulder, which had not hurt when it had been a wing, was hot and sore again.

There was a ring of men standing over him, but as yet none had raised a hand in anger. They _should,_ he knew they _should,_ he _deserved_ it, but so far they had stayed whatever punishment was to take the place of the runes. 

He remembered their names, now. They were not just confused faces, he knew them, and he knew-- he knew it had not been a dream, they had been his friends. Before they became so angry at him, they had been his friends. 

He wished he could remember what he had done, that had ruined everything so they had to punish him. 

And now there was the crash of thunder and lightning and he really would have transformed into something tiny and swift, if he could. He wanted to hide. This was the worst of it, what would come next, having to _see--_

_\-- Betrayaldisappointmentpain--_

Whatever he had done, whatever he deserved, he did not want to see that again. He could not bear it. He would rather throw himself into the void, lose himself in the branches of Yggdrasil--

"Brother, how glad I am to see you returned."

Loki blinked, looking up in disbelief. Thor was frowning, yes, but he was not angry-- 

_(none of them were angry)_

Loki stared, and Thor moved closer, and--

Afterward, in his own mind-- he did not say it out loud to anyone-- the best description Loki could find for what happened next was, it was like being a dog lost in the rain. Alone and frightened and cold--

\-- and then a car stops and the door opens, and from the warm interior comes the smell of _family_ and _home,_ so strong and familiar it is almost too much to bear, and-- 

_This was the right one, the one he wanted. The one who--_

Thor looked down at him, and smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** We're spending most of our time in one location, for a change.
> 
> **Warnings:** Heroes really can be arseholes. I can't stress that enough.

"They've got Loki? He's back?" It was unnecessary to look at Annie to know what her expression looked like-- there was such light in her voice, Loki suspected if he looked upon her face he might be blinded. "Is he all right?"

"Tony said he's shaken up, but it sounds like he'll be okay," Romanov replied. 

"Oh good," Annie breathed.

"You should go to him." His voice was harsh in his ears, and Loki made an effort to smooth it before he spoke again, make himself sound unconcerned, matter-of-fact: "You wish to reassure yourself, and he will want to see you. Agent Romanov and I can do what is necessary here."

He stole a look at Annie. She was thinking over his words, a faint frown line creasing her brow, chewing gently on her lower lip. She was concentrating on the question and, for all her knowledge of Loki, he was convinced she was unaware of being tested. 

It was hardly the first time he had performed such a test. _There is no need to concern yourself with me--_ How many times, under how many circumstances, had he said such words?

More times than he could count. And, each time, the test subject had agreed, had gone about his business (or hers) reassured that Loki could be safely ignored. Eventually, of course, after sufficient repetitions of the same event, the inquiry had become perfunctory, the eyes and mind of the questioner already on the next thing, the matter of real importance, the person of genuine interest.

It was far too late to change that, and probably there had never been any anything to change in the first place-- probably a different answer from him would have led to the same result. Regret was pointless. And still, from long habit, he assayed the test. 

It was hardly even a test this time, of course, not when the outcome was so predictable. He was perfectly aware of her feelings for that other Loki. He even-- 

It was understandable, was it not? Annie who was kind, and soft, and considerate of others-- of course the other Loki would hold her affection, the Loki who protected children… 

Who was not a monster.

_(…our Loki did some terrible things, before he came here…)_

Next to him Annie pushed her hands back through her hair, and then shook her head. 

"I can't," she said, anguish clear in her voice. "It's too far for me to-- if he was close by, and I could just zap myself to where he is and check on him, that would be one thing. But it's too far, so I'd have to ask Tony to send someone to collect me and… and besides, there's-- there's all _this._ I can't just… Is Thor with him, did Tony say?"

"He didn't, but Thor was with them in London," Romanov said. 

"And Mitchell's there," Annie said, sounding very much like she was trying to convince herself. "And Agent Coulson. They'll look after him until they can bring him home."

"Yes, but that is hardly-- " Loki began. 

"I know, it's not exactly the same, but… I can't just leave you, either. Loki-- _my_ Loki-- needs friends right now, and I certainly hope he wants to see me, but… he's got Thor, and Mitchell, and Coulson, and the rest of the Avengers-- "

"Tony was using his place in London as a staging area to bring the Avengers here," Romanov said. "Or at least some of them, in case Doom comes back. So they won't all be there for long." 

"Even so," Annie insisted, her reluctance obvious, but still stubbornly looking at Loki. "I can't do a lot here to help, but I can do _something,_ and if Doom comes back before the Avengers get here, you both may need me. And Loki-- you need your friends, too."

"The other Loki will expect you to put him first," Loki pointed out, uncertain why he was arguing, except that her words had jolted him badly and he needed to regroup.

"He might. And I _want_ to," Annie admitted. "I do. I miss him, and I've been so worried about him. But I think I can make him understand why I felt like I had to, to do something else."

"You need not feel _obligated_ to stay with me," Loki said coldly. 

"That's nice of you to say," Annie replied, with a desperate little laugh, "but it's not how obligations work. When you really want to be in two places at once, you've got to consider where you're needed most. And right now I think that's here. If Doom and the vampires show up, George will be concentrating on protecting Nina, and when he's not a wolf he's not exactly the greatest fighter in the world anyway. I know _I'm_ not a great fighter either-- " this she said with a perfectly straight face "-- but at least I'm dead already so there's a limit to how badly a vampire can hurt me. And like I said-- you need a friend, too."

There was very little he could say in response to this-- even had he been able to speak. Annie offered a watery smile and dashed at her eyes, then murmured, 

"I should tell George the news," and darted toward the kitchen.

Left alone with Romanov, Loki pointedly stared over the diminutive human's head and hoped she would have the sense to hold her peace.

She did not. 

"Don't argue with her about this," Romanov advised quietly. Loki favoured her with a look that should have scorched the hair from her head. Knowing Romanov as he did, he was scarcely surprised when she gave little sign of noticing his displeasure. Instead, she went on, "She's doing the right thing as she sees it. Don't make it harder on her."

Perhaps motivated only by the wish to be contrary, Loki had opened his mouth to argue, when Romanov's little communications device interrupted them again. 

A few moments later, Annie emerged from the kitchen, half-running into the big entry hall-- only to come to an abrupt halt at the expressions on Loki's and Romanov's faces.

"Tony just called back," Romanov announced. "There's been a change in the situation."

"What kind of a change?" Annie faltered.

"You don't have to worry about rushing off to London."

Annie froze. "What do you mean?"

~oOo~

The situation, in Tony's opinion, had gone from painful to kind of hilarious and then right back to painful, in the time it would have taken for, say, a tiny bird to hide a handful of seeds in a rafter. 

What bothered Tony was, of course, the fact they'd seen Loki in a state very similar to this one back when he was held prisoner in New York. In that case he'd had his magic drained, rather than bound, but the impression of nobody home in his eyes was eerily similar. 

That time, Loki hadn't recognized Thor at first-- well, he hadn't recognized any of them, but Thor was the one that had shaken Tony. This time, Thor was kind of shaken up himself-- on top of everything, his interactions with the other Loki had obviously upset him-- and Tony felt nearly as sorry for him as he did for Loki. Whatever happened next was probably going to be hard on everyone.

And then Thor stopped in front of his cowering brother, looking down at him, and that was when something stirred in Loki's eyes. He blinked, and it was like watching him come back into focus.

And then Thor smiled, and a second later Loki, the bathrobe flapping, lurched to his feet and pretty much threw himself into his brother's arms. 

Frankly, the expressions on the faces of what Tony thought of as the Extravengers were priceless, although not in a funny way. That, combined with the state Loki was in, caused Tony to make a mental note to punch at least one of them before this was over. Probably, he decided, the other Tony Stark, just on general principles. 

In the meantime, though, he was mostly focused on the brothers. Loki had a bad shoulder, which meant he could only hug Thor with one arm, chin hooked over Thor's own shoulder as if to get as close to him as possible. Thor, meanwhile, also had only one arm around his brother, while the other was cradling the back of Loki's poor shaved head. 

Tony gave it five minutes before Thor started asking what the hell had happened to Loki's hair. And maybe Steve was right about Tony being a cowardly superhero, because he found himself deeply, _deeply_ grateful not to be the guy who was expected to explain whatever-it-was. Although, depending on the forthcoming explanation, he did reserve the right to line up behind Thor and Mitchell, and maybe Coulson, when the resultant ass-kicking was ready to start. 

At about the three minute mark Thor registered just how wobbly his brother was and gently ushered him back to the sofa. He ended up sitting between Thor and Mitchell, holding Thor's hand, coughing and sniffling intermittently, and still looking pretty spooked and not entirely all there. 

For a guy who claimed to once have had an anger management problem that rivaled Bruce's, Thor nowadays really was remarkably even-tempered. Recent development or not, his cool head was a tremendous asset to the team. At the moment it probably saved every window in Tony's flat. 

Holding Loki's right hand in both his own, Thor looked around at the assembled Avengers, Extravengers-- he didn't even look surprised at the sight of them-- and others. In a calm, friendly voice that made Tony want to hide behind Steve-- if not a lead wall-- Thor inquired, 

"What has been done to my brother?"

Okay, so maybe Tony wasn't the _only_ cowardly superhero in the room, because there wasn't exactly a chorus of voices piping up to explain what had happened. Given that a moment ago Loki had looked incapable of comprehending language, it was a bit surprising when he was the one who answered the question. 

"They had to bind my magic with runes," he explained simply.

Thor must have known that would be the explanation. Either that, or his self-control really was superhuman even by the standards of a superhuman alien. Whatever the explanation, lightning did not strike as Thor asked his brother, in a gentle tone, 

"Who had to bind your magic?"

Tony approved of Thor's priorities here: identify, and possibly smite, the guilty parties, and then ask for whys and wherefores. 

He was perhaps a little less approving when Loki explained, "They did," and gestured at himself, Steve, and Bruce. As he looked around, though, Loki fortunately seemed to spot the Extravengers for the first time, and he lapsed into confused silence. 

Thor nodded. 

"And why was this necessary?" he asked gently. Loki looked as if he was trying very hard to think, but finally shook his head. 

"I cannot remember," he admitted. "It was… I did something. Something terrible, and it was necessary for them to punish me."

"It wasn't punishment," Fury-- and Tony was very, very grateful to only have to deal with one Fury at a time, thanks-- spoke up. "It was a necessary action to prevent him from escaping." He bent a truly Fury-like glare on Other-Thor and added, "We weren't aware of his ability to let himself out of our cells."

"Your cake stand," Loki corrected, with a drunken-sounding little giggle. 

"Their what?" Thor asked kindly. 

"They imprisoned me in a glass cell," Loki explained. "Because I had… because… It looked like a cake stand, but it was meant to be dropped from the sky. With the Hulk in it," he added, agitated again. "They said it was intended for the Hulk, only the door was very small and… " He sniffled, then looked at Fury and added, "You never explained how you intended to get the Hulk _into_ the cell so that you might kill him, but it sounds a, a dirty trick."

Tony spoke up in a hurry, before either of the Banners could _express himself_ on the subject of that kind of double-dealing: "You know what, I think we all need to talk about everything that's happened, but it's probably a good idea for Loki to get some rest. Okay, Loki?" 

Watery greenish eyes turned toward Tony with an expression of apprehension. Thor tightened his grip on Loki's hand, then remembered himself when Loki tugged uneasily at it. Thor patted him apologetically and said, 

"Mitchell will stay with you-- will you not, Mitchell?"

"Sure," Mitchell promised. 

"I'll show you," Tony offered quickly. Across the room, the guy who wasn't an Extravenger, the guy in SHIELD fatigues-- he looked vaguely familiar-- raised a hand. 

"Is it all right if I look at his shoulder before you do anything else?"

"And who are you?" Tony asked.

"My name is Dunlap, I'm a medic. A doctor. I patched up Loki's shoulder in the first place. I gave you a bottle of water, remember?" the medic addressed Loki directly. Loki cast a sidelong look at Thor, seemed encouraged by what he saw, then looked back at Dunlap and nodded hesitantly. Still addressing Loki, which Tony liked him for, the medic went on calmly, "Your bandage came off when you changed shape a minute ago. I can put another one on for you, which will protect that wound. Will you let me do that?"

Loki frowned as if thinking it over, then nodded again. Dunlap glanced at Thor, not so much asking permission but checking to make sure he wasn't going to get clobbered if he got too close. Thor also nodded, and Mitchell vacated the place on Loki's left so the medic could take it.

Moving smoothly and quietly, as if to avoid scaring his patient into biting him, Dunlap brought a packaged dressing out of his apparently well-stocked pockets, eased the bathrobe off Loki's bad shoulder, and went to work.

After a minute, quietly, he said, 

"I'm beginning to get the feeling I'm missing something here. Do I understand this is _not_ the Loki who attacked New York?" 

Loki flinched violently and Thor patted him again. "That is correct. At least, I know nothing of the incident you describe, but my brother had nothing to do with any attack on New York." Loki looked anxious, or maybe guilty, and Thor addressed him: "Do not think on it for now. The binding of your magic will have affected your memory, and your ability to think clearly. When your magic has fully recovered you will remember. Trust me, my brother."

Loki subsided, looking relieved, and the medic went back to work-- with, Tony couldn't help but notice, a remarkably grim look on his face.

And that would have been all there was to it, except the other Tony Stark, being Tony Stark, just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Okay," he said. "I get that this really is a different Loki, and I guess he's not, you know, evil?" Ignoring the dirty looks he was getting from Fury and Barton-- Romanov gave nothing away-- Stark waited for Thor's stiff nod, then repeated, "Okay," as if he was organizing his thoughts. 

Which he then uttered:

"But does… is… I mean-- he's actually your _real_ brother?"

Loki, thank God, just continued to look puzzled. Thor blinked once, sat very still for a few seconds as he digested the meaning of the question--

\-- and then he turned toward Loki, extended a forefinger, and deliberately prodded him in the chest.

"Yes," he announced, with an air of discovery, "this is indeed _my real brother."_

At this point even Tony Stark should have had the common sense to shut up. Instead he glanced back at the Thor who'd come with him and blurted, 

"I mean, your _real_ brother. Not just, not just adopted."

The temperature in the room suddenly felt like a whole troop of Jotnar had walked in and sat down. Outside, there was a rumble of thunder. However, Thor kept control of his temper. Just.

"I fear you misunderstand me," he said, through his teeth. "In this-- I suppose you would call it this _reality--_ the practice of _adoption_ is a recognized and legal process by which someone becomes a full member of a family. Loki is my brother by adoption, presented to the realm and acknowledged by our parents. Therefore, _he is my real brother."_

The flash of lightning that illuminated the sky outside was really pretty impressive, and anybody but Tony Stark would have shut up. 

"Yes, but-- "

"Stark, for God's sake," Rogers snapped, shoulders tense. 

"It was the first thing he told us!" Stark retorted, gesturing at their Thor. "Okay, the second-- first he told us Loki was crazy, and then when we explained what he's been up to, Loki I mean, Thor made sure we knew he was adopted, like that washed his hands. I mean, sure, who knows how many centuries Loki was rampaging around the galaxy before he sent that robot thing after Thor in New Mexico and he may have disowned him, but that's not what Thor _said--_ "

"He was not!" the new Thor shouted, which made Loki cringe and everyone else jump. "Do you think I would have permitted such a thing? He betrayed me, and I was banished here to Midgard, and upon my return I found him lost to madness and evil!" 

That outburst shut _everybody_ up, at least for a minute. And then Banner, who really looked like he needed a tranquilizer, asked, 

"So, what, are you saying that up until you were banished he wasn't a criminal at all? Are you trying to tell us that, that everything that happened in New York, everything your brother did-- are you trying to tell us that was all _out of character?_ And you never thought to _mention_ it?"

"What difference would it have made if I had?" Thor demanded, apparently too angry, or something, to consider the possibility of Banner hulking out and tearing his arms off. "It was necessary that he be stopped by any means possible!"

"Well, I might have objected to the goddamned muzzle!" Banner snapped, and that was when Bruce stepped into his line of vision and gestured toward the long curtains. 

"Balcony," he invited quietly. Banner clenched his fists, and his eyes shut, for a second, and then followed Bruce through the curtains. Tony sincerely hoped one Dr. Banner knew how to talk another down. 

"He's right, though," Rogers spoke up grimly. "We appreciate your help in the battle, Thor, don't think we don't, but I'm trying to remember a single piece of useful intelligence you gave us about your brother and his intentions. Aside from the fact he was motivated solely by the desire to hurt people and things you care about-- "

"Okay, that's not true either," Barton interrupted. Everyone looked at him. Barton shrugged. "The bastard was inside my head. He was thinking a lot of crazy-ass things, but I don't recall any particular mention of Thor. He was pissed as hell at someone called Odin, and scared of-- " Barton broke off, wincing as if he could still feel whatever Loki had.

"All right," Tony said loudly, "as valuable as I'm sure we've all found this little exercise in sharing, maybe it can wait until you all get back home. Coulson, I'm sure you won't mind activating that portal again so these nice folks can be on their way?"

"I'd love to," Coulson replied dryly, "but the app's disappeared from my phone. I'll have to get in touch with Strange and ask him to open it for us." 

"I am not leaving this realm without my brother," other-Thor announced. "My mother bid me return that one-- " he indicated Loki with a disdainful gesture-- "to his home, and retrieve-- "

"Oh, _now_ you believe he's a different Loki," Stark shouted, apparently to relieve his feelings because the evidence at this point was pretty much insurmountable. 

"He did tell us from the beginning that his mother thought so," Romanov pointed out.

Tony gave up. "Thor, Steve, would you mind calming these clowns down? Come on, Loki and Mitchell, let's get you someplace quieter." Loki looked quickly at Thor, who nodded and ushered his brother off with Tony and Mitchell.

Some ground rules seemed necessary, so as he walked the two down the hall, Tony set them: "JARVIS? Loki's going to have a nap, and Mitchell's hanging out with him for a while. When I leave them I want you to lock the door. If either of them want out of the room, let them, but don't let anybody but them in without checking with Loki first and making sure he wants to see them. Not even me. Or someone who looks like me. In fact, if Mitchell leaves and Loki doesn't want him to come back in, don't let him. Unless you feel Loki's in danger, get his okay before you admit anyone. Understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Good." The room Tony had in mind was actually a suite, with a bedroom you reached by passing through a sitting room with a TV and DVD player. The last occupant had been a research boffin who liked to unwind with a nice wildlife documentary or fantasy movie, and the room was stocked accordingly. Tony hoped Mitchell was fond of either _Star Wars_ or Australian fauna.

The condition Loki was in right now, wallabies might be just the thing.

He let himself out of the room and hurried back to the living room to make sure none of his guests, invited or otherwise, were killing each other. They weren't-- yet-- but neither of the Bruces had returned, Steve and Coulson were leaning against the far wall with an air of letting this burn itself out, and his Thor and their Stark were having a go at each other. 

Or more accurately, Stark was for some reason having a go at Loki, through Thor.

"Right, I get it," Stark was saying, "he's Smeagol, not Gollum."

_Ouch._ Okay, it was true that, bald and with those big pale eyes in his drawn little face, the resemblance was there, but nobody meant a comparison like that _nicely._

Tony was kind of getting to hate his own evil twin, frankly, so he found himself looking forward to Thor's response to this sally. And Thor, bless him, didn't let him down:

"You mock me," he said coolly. This was actually one of Thor's standard lines, one he used all the time because yeah, actually, they did tease Thor a lot. Thor was a good sport, and he usually delivered the line with a smile. He wasn't smiling now. "You seem to believe I am unfamiliar with the works of JRR Tolkien, that I will not know of the creature to whom you compare my brother, or comprehend the insult. That is incorrect, and I would very strongly advise you not to repeat it. Do we understand each other?"

Tony hadn't received the impression the Extravengers were exactly pals, but other-Thor-- _OThor--_ didn't seem to appreciate the threat. In the interest of maintaining the peace, and possibly the structural integrity of his building, Tony figured he had better intervene.

He had started forward, although he was actually wondering whether suiting up would be a smart idea, when there was another flash outside.

Not so much a flash, actually. It was more that the sky filled with light. Tony didn't have to be told what that meant, and he wasn't much surprised when Bruce and Banner came running in from the balcony.

"Guys," said Bruce, sounding breathless, "we've got company-- "

Behind the Bruces, the curtain to the balcony fluttered. Through them came two women, in long and flowing robes. The one in the lead was tall, golden-haired, and regal. She smiled warmly, despite the tense lines around her eyes.

"I apologize for my intrusion, Man of Iron-- I have come to retrieve my younger son."

Tony, who was a good American and not much impressed by royalty, bowed. 

"Welcome to my home, Queen Frigga. I'm sure he'll be really glad to see you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some viewers thought Thor's "he's adopted!" line wasn't the craven disavowal it appeared to me, but in context I just can’t see any other explanation for it. That was the moment when I realized I was probably going to hate this movie.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** None. 
> 
> **Warnings:** None needed.

Clint hated driving in the UK at the best of times. He could _do_ it, he just didn't _like_ to. He also hated tiny hatchbacks, which was what SHIELD had issued him to get around in. (Honestly, he wasn't sure whether the UK office was really cheap or very practical.) Mind you, if you had to drive on narrow, hilly streets in the oldest parts of Bristol, probably a small car was the smartest choice. And, really, the little black Honda felt quite a lot bigger on the inside.

He didn't mind the manual transmission in and of itself. As a matter of fact he ordinarily preferred a stick-- and if the English could drive them on these hills, so could he-- but right now he'd have gladly traded for an automatic. It would have been nice to have his hand free on Daisy's side of the car. A related problem for a right-handed person was, he had to sit on the right-hand side of the car in order to drive it, which put Daisy on his left. Which meant that if, for instance, she got peckish or peevish and tried to rip his throat out, he'd be fending her off with his non-dominant hand. 

Now, obviously, Daisy would have to be either stupid or crazy to kill the person trying to help her find Ivan, but-- and this was putting it mildly-- she didn't exactly strike him as a paragon of mental stability. Clint just hoped the prospect of careening wildly down a hill and crashing in flames was enough to convince her to keep her fangs to herself while he was driving. 

And if that didn't work, there was always the crucifix-- on a very short chain-- he was wearing under his shirt, right where someone would run into it if they were trying to get at his carotid. Or so he hoped. 

"Okay, you've got the map," he reminded her-- something he'd picked up from hanging around with Mitchell was, distractions helped keep a vampire's mind off blood. Accordingly, he'd given her the city map and reminded her that, as a stranger here himself, he was depending on her to get them to the houses they intended to search for Ivan. "Where are we?" 

Daisy studied the document on her lap, lower lip caught between her teeth. Clint started to make an encouraging noise, then decided against it. It would be pretty embarrassing if he started feeling too friendly toward her, dropped his guard, and got himself killed. So he just waited for her to orient herself. Finally, she announced, 

"It should be the next left."

"All right," Clint said, "we'll find a place for the car and come back on foot."

A few minutes later, they were walking along a steep, narrow street lined with tall old brick houses. It was the same principle as the terrace where Loki and his friends lived, only Loki's street was lined with small, brightly-coloured, friendly little houses that would probably get eaten if they showed up here.

Of course, it was possible Clint was just projecting a feeling of evil, based on the whole "safe house for vampires" thing. 

The house they were looking for was about halfway down the street. It was pretty nondescript, like every safe house Clint had encountered in the course of his career. It looked deserted, which meant nothing. 

No, not deserted. As Clint casually glanced up from the street, a curtain in a top-storey window twitched. 

~oOo~

The three searchers stayed within hailing distance of one another, but owing to the underbrush were not always able to maintain visual contact. Natasha wasn't terribly worried about that: Loki showed no immediate signs of wanting to bolt, and she hadn't been tasked with keeping him prisoner in the first place. Not that she would be able to do much about it if he decided to disappear on her, assuming his powers-- if they had in fact returned-- were anything like the Loki she was used to.

Coulson's briefing on the subject of the new Loki had been hurried and not nearly as clear as usual. The unclear part was understandable, of course: all they had to go on with regard to this Loki was guesswork and supposition, and even though Thor's logic made sense and his knowledge of his real brother was considerable, their theories were still just that. Therefore, Natasha's brief was to treat this Loki as a neutral agent, but to keep her guard up-- like that last little warning was necessary for her. 

So far he wasn't pinging any of Natasha's instincts, although he was definitely uncomfortable around her. And that felt personal, somehow, rather than general defensiveness or even disdain for women. This Loki was wary of _her._ The question, she supposed, was whether that was owing to something another Natasha Romanov had done to him in his reality, or something _he_ had done to _her._

There being nothing much she could do about it, Natasha didn't let it bother her, but she did keep it in mind.

Loki wasn't currently her primary concern. None of the security guards Tony had posted around the house had been seen or heard from since the previous night. In the course of fighting off the vampire intruder-- and didn't Natasha wish she'd been on hand to see _that--_ Annie had been told another vampire was outside killing the guards. Tony was going to be wild when he heard about it, but they intended to keep that news from him at least until he was on-site. Natasha hoped to locate the bodies before he got here. It was a small thing, but at least she could keep him from having to be the one who found his employees' corpses. And, obviously, the longer it took to find them, the worse notifying their families was going to be. Natasha wasn't sentimental, but she wasn't sorry that job would fall to someone other than her. 

"Natasha? Loki!" came a call from somewhere to the north. Natasha winced-- Annie had insisted on coming to help, and it wasn't exactly logical to want to protect the _ghost_ from the sight of _dead people,_ but it was hard not to want to shield both Annie and George from ugliness. 

In the next heartbeat, Natasha registered an odd note in Annie's voice, surprise and urgency instead of fear and horror. 

"Loki! Come quick!" Annie pleaded, as Natasha started toward the sound of her voice. _Loki, not Natasha._ Was that just an instinct of Annie's, to call to Loki when she was frightened, or did it mean his particular skill set was needed?

Natasha emerged into a clearing, to find herself standing next to Annie. Loki appeared a moment later, his footfalls as softs as any woodland predator-- Natasha could move quietly, but Loki had her beat. She'd keep that in mind just in case he decided to stop playing nicely with them. 

At the moment, though, she found herself distracted by the group of men and women, all wearing dark-grey uniforms and holstered sidearms, sitting quietly on the damp ground of the clearing. 

"I don't think they can see me," Annie said nervously. Natasha made to step forward, but Loki did first, gesturing for her to keep still. He crossed to the nearest human, crouched before her-- keeping a cautious eye on the hand nearest her weapon-- and raised a hand in front of her face. She gave no sign of noticing it at first, but when he flexed his fingers, then moved the hand nearer her face and pulled it back, she began, sluggishly, to focus. Loki frowned thoughtfully and straightened. 

As he did, the woman got to her feet, followed by her comrades, with no more expression than robots. Even Natasha found it creepy, and Annie shivered. Loki was unmoved, except to look mildly interested. 

"It is a form of enchantment, obviously," he shrugged. Catching Annie's eye and apparently registering her obvious distress, he added, "I do not believe they have suffered permanent injury. It may be that it will dissipate on its own. I can attempt to lift it, if that does not happen soon." 

Yes, he definitely had _one_ thing in common with the Loki that Natasha was used to. 

"Do you need to know the work of the sorcerer to do that?" Annie asked, and Loki gave her a startled look that curdled a little as it changed into understanding. 

"Your Loki has told you of this?" he asked tartly. 

"Yes," Annie replied, not appearing put off by his tone. "I wasn't sure if it would be the same for you. Since you're… not from around here." 

"Well, I shall see what can do," Loki said, in a neutral tone.

"Thank you," said Annie, and smiled at him. Loki didn't smile back, but Natasha was sure a little tension went out of him. 

~oOo~

"Keep walking," Clint said to Daisy, without moving his lips. Her behaviour so far suggested she would rather argue than follow directions, but to Clint's surprise she did as he told her. Of course, she was a predator, and maybe in hunting mode she was more prudent or something.

"Why are we doing this?" Daisy asked, once they were nearly at the corner. 

"There's someone in there," Clint said. "I saw movement at one of the windows. Under the circumstances I don't think it would be smart to knock on the door and offer to talk with them about personal salvation." 

"So what are we going to do?" 

"There must be a back door or a window. Is this going to be a problem for you?" he belatedly wondered. 

"You mean will I be able to enter? Yes, the… disability… only applies to private residences. Besides, this house belongs to the… community." 

"Well, good," Clint said. Takes a village, and all that. "Okay, when we get inside we're going to have to tread softly, hear me? That might have been Ivan at the window, he could be locked up somehow, but it also could be someone guarding the house, and if that's the case we don't know how much trouble we'll be in." Daisy uttered a sound that was partly a growl but mostly a hiss, and Clint figured he'd just have to hope for the best. 

Fortunately for them, the gardens of these houses backed onto another narrow street rather than the back gardens of another row of houses, the way Loki's did. Counting their way down from the corner, the two located the house they wanted. There was a gate in the fence-- sensible, considering the theoretical occupants of the house might need to slip out the back in a hurry. The gate latched from the inside, but Clint had no trouble getting it open. Under normal circumstances he'd think that was careless on the part of the householder, or maybe overly trusting. 

In this case, of course, it was probably an open invitation for someone to drop in for a drink. As it were. 

The lock on the back door presented few problems to someone with Clint's skill set, and he and Daisy stepped into the kitchen. He pushed the door shut but not so it latched-- the less noise they made, the better. Unobtrusively retrieving something from his jacket and palming it in his left hand, Clint considered the situation.

The layout of the house seemed standard for its style and age, with the kitchen at the back of the house, dining and living rooms opening off a hallway that led to the front door, and the stairwell to the upper floor probably in or near the front entryway. Clint led the way out of the kitchen, less to protect Daisy than to-- he hoped-- stop her from doing anything stupid. 

The stairs were right where he was expecting them to be, with a landing halfway up and a ninety-degree turn to the next storey. 

Clint had just reached the landing when the vampire lunged down at him. 

Under the circumstances, you could hardly call this a surprise attack. The stake was still in the secret pocket in his jacket, and he actually could have reached it in time. But, just in case this was the only guard and he needed someone to answer questions, a less-lethal response seemed prudent. 

As the vampire attacked, Clint raised his left hand, which contained a small plastic bottle with an atomizer nozzle. He'd picked that up at a drugstore back in New York. He'd also gotten the contents in New York, at a Catholic church Steve directed him to-- a wonderfully old-fashioned place that welcomed visitors at any time, kept the baptismal font stocked, and didn't mind you helping yourself to the holy water. 

The vampire howled as the spray hit his face, stumbled backward, tripped on the steps and fell on his ass. Clint had been mildly worried the holy water would melt his face off or something inconveniently permanent, but in small amounts it seemed to just raise a hell of a rash. 

Although on closer inspection, maybe that was just his complexion. Clint had never realized vampires could have acne. 

"Geoff! What in hell are you doing here?" Daisy demanded, pushing past Clint to grab the other vampire by the collar. The second vampire, who looked like a scrawny teenager, cringed. Since Daisy's methods seemed to be working, Clint decided to leave her to them, maybe play the good cop for once.

Actually, since Daisy seemed to be bent on shaking Geoff's head right off his shoulders, Clint figured he should probably begin with the good cop routine immediately. 

"Let him answer your question, Daisy," Clint suggested. Daisy hissed again, but she shoved Geoff back into the staircase and let go of him. "Geoff?" Clint said nicely. "Why are you here, Geoff?"

"I was looking for Ivan," Geoff muttered. 

"Say again?" Clint said.

"What are you talking about?" Daisy demanded. 

Geoff cringed harder and mumbled, 

"I've been looking for Ivan. I heard Wyndham was around yesterday afternoon, saying things are going to change, and I didn't know if that meant Ivan had changed his mind or, or something happened to him, and he wasn't at his flat so I thought I'd look in the safe houses-- "

"You're alone?" Clint asked, mostly rhetorically-- surely, if he was here with backup, the noise they'd been making would have brought it by now. Geoff nodded, sniffling. It was hard to think of this one as particularly fearsome, but maybe he preyed on the old and infirm. "Here's the deal, Geoff. I'm one of the Avengers, and I've been sent here to look after things in Bristol for now." 

"Where are Mitchell and Loki?" Geoff asked. 

"That's a good question," Daisy said. "Clint, you said something about Mitchell _bringing Loki back._ What was that about?"

_Shit. That was careless._

"Loki's been off doing research into Doom's magic," Clint replied unblushingly, and changed the subject. "Okay, Geoff, how about you come with us while we do our searching. Is this the first house you've checked?" Geoff, looking relieved and terrified in equal parts, nodded. "Okay. Well, Daisy and I are going through it again, and then we'll confer on the list of places we're looking and hit the rest of them together." 

There was no sign of Ivan, or recent occupancy, or murder in the house. It turned out Geoff knew about one safe house that wasn't on Clint's list, and it was one Daisy recognized as a place she and Ivan had stayed in together about forty years ago. 

"It's also the closest," Clint said. "Let's go there next."

"All right," Daisy agreed, and Geoff nodded. Both of them seemed focused on the mission, but Clint found his mind jumping ahead to consider the problem of what he was going to do if they found Ivan and Daisy decided she didn't need a human partner any longer. 

_First things first,_ he decided, and led the way back to the car.

~oOo~

A dozen enchanted humans following them into the house like ducklings was hardly the kind of thing that could be concealed from George's human woman. Nina, that was her name, appeared in the doorway of the television room and frankly gaped-- a stupid-looking expression that filled Loki with aggravation. George's voice in his head refused him permission to chastise her for it, which made him even angrier. 

"What happened to them?" she demanded. 

"If I knew," Loki found himself able to reply tartly, "I would have repaired it by now."

The tiny fluffy-haired human glared at him, then turned to Annie and Romanov for further information. Upon hearing the humans had apparently been helpless in the forest since the previous night, however, she suddenly revealed herself to be useful. 

"In that case they're probably getting dehydrated. We should see if they'll drink something," Nina suggested. Looking more closely at the damp uniforms the humans wore, she added, "And get them blankets, in case they're not able to regulate their body temperatures." 

"I'll make tea," announced Annie. He really should have expected that. 

"I'll get blankets," George offered. 

"I'm going to check their pulse and respiration," Nina decided. "Can one of you find some paper and a pen or something, so I can record them? George, while you're collecting blankets you can also check the bathrooms and see if there's a thermometer or a first aid kit anywhere." 

"Sure," George agreed. 

Loki found himself dispatched in search of writing supplies, Romanov apparently feeling he could not be trusted alone with Nina. He ventured into the entry hall, where he found a study near the front door. There was a desk, wherein he found writing implements, which he carried back to Nina.

Romanov apparently had as little interest in succoring humans as Loki did, and she had withdrawn to the far corner of the room. She was speaking quietly into her communication device, apparently conferring with her comrades. Loki knew quite well she was watching him, but if she chose not to make it obvious, he chose not to confront her. He therefore joined Nina, who seemed glad to have him record the observations she was making. 

Nina examined the humans with a practiced air that suggested she must be a healer of some sort. The methods of this realm were primitive, but they entirely absorbed her. Under her direction, Loki ensured the papers on which he recorded these _vital signs--_ according to Nina, all lower than they should have been-- were tucked into the pockets of each human's uniform. He was not much troubled by the glassy-eyed acquiescence of the humans, but it quickly began to make Nina uncomfortable. 

After George dropped off his first armload of blankets and went off in search of more, Nina finally turned to Loki. 

"Can you try to help them?" she asked abruptly. Loki stiffened at her tone, drew back slightly. She had not _commanded,_ not exactly, but her tone reminded him of his-- of _Thor,_ golden and disdainful, making his wishes known.

_Of the Other, looking down at the gasping prisoner and repeating his demands, both of them knowing how short would be the respite before the persuasions began again._

Nina was not Thor, not the Other-- and not Annie, either, because she seemed not to notice anything in his expression or bearing, which was a relief. However, she did grimace and correct herself. 

"Sorry, that came out a bit sharper than I intended it to." She smiled tensely. "It's just… unnerving, to see them like this. _Do_ you think you can lift this spell?" 

Loki considered. "Possibly. Although I confess the healing arts are not my strength." Nina looked disappointed, and Loki snapped, "Yes, I am sure your _dear friend_ is most adept at them."

Nina shrugged. "If you mean the other Loki, I don't think I'd call him a _dear friend._ Really, I hardly know him-- except that he has a real talent for getting George into trouble, which I could certainly live without. Can you please try?"

Loki glanced across the room toward Romanov, who had abandoned any pretense of paying attention to her communication device. And then Annie stepped out of the kitchen.

"Natasha? The tea's ready. Could you please help me carry mugs and sugar and things?" she asked, her tone brightly innocent. Had Loki not been particularly adept at spotting falsehoods, he might have been deceived. Romanov did not question Annie's intentions, and she did leave the room. Nina remained.

"My powers are… not what they should be," Loki informed her, suddenly nervous. Nina nodded in acknowledgement, but when she did not press him, Loki found himself reaching out to lay his right hand on the shoulder of the first stricken guard. 

Ordinarily it was necessary to know something of a sorcerer's magic in order to undo a working. And, Loki realized, he did: as the exploratory tendrils of his own magic reached into the human, he became aware of a familiar sensation, almost buzzing against his fingertips, the same sensation he recalled from the moment when he had been taken from the cell in Asgard. The spell was just familiar enough that he could find and control it. It felt… the best way he could describe it was, it felt almost like a sticky coil of string around the human's consciousness, like something that could be gently pried free. As he did so, the end seemed to vanish, like water into air. 

Loki quite lost track of the other occupants of the room as he worked the enchantment loose. As he did so, he decided his earlier suggestion, that the spell might dissipate over time, was probably correct, and he wondered what the caster's purpose had been. A sorcerer with power to draw him across dimensions would not have cast such a fragile spell except deliberately.

He also found himself wondering why the humans were still alive at all, having been rendered helpless and left out-of-doors with what Annie seemed to believe was a remorseless predator. Had there been other guards on whom the vampire had sated itself? Or had something else stopped it? 

And, if so, _why?_

Shaking his head to dislodge the thought, and beginning to be aware of the amount of power he was expending on this task, Loki returned his full attention to the human--

\-- just as the last of the magic slipped free and dispersed. 

The uniformed woman blinked, looked around with awareness beginning to return to her eyes. Loki released her and stepped back, just as Annie, carrying a teapot, appeared with Agent Romanov, who was bearing a tray of drinking vessels.

"Tea?" Annie offered, extending a steaming cup to the human.

"Thank you," said the woman, addressing Annie. 

"Yes," agreed Nina, but she was looking at Loki.

~oOo~

Tony didn't mind admitting he wasn't exactly an expert on the habits and behaviour of mothers. He did, however, have the impression anyone who thought Loki _only_ had daddy issues was missing at least half of the point. Tony sincerely hoped that seeing his mother right now would be a good thing. 

As long as they could get her, and her companion, down the hall to Loki without her stopping to wreak horrifying vengeance on everyone who had in any way harmed her baby. Tony wasn't personally familiar with maternal overprotectiveness but he did have access to the Discovery Channel, and he certainly didn't want to be in the way if Frigga went all mama bear when she and Loki were reunited. 

Although he was, to be perfectly honest, kind of rooting for the mama bear reaction in general terms.

"Mother," Thor-- the _real_ Thor-- greeted her, stepped forward and briefly clasped her hands. "And Eir," he added, addressing the second woman. "Eir is a healer," Thor explained to his human friends. "My brother and I have kept her very busy over the years." Tony could just imagine. Thor went on, "Heimdall has told you of Loki's condition?"

"He sent word your brother had been injured," Frigga replied, anxiety beginning to surface. She glanced at the Extravengers, eyes falling on the other Thor, and Tony found himself hoping the queen wasn't able to command lightning like her boy could. He'd hate to have to completely redecorate.

"There was a misunderstanding," Rogers, who was standing next to other-Thor, spoke up. "We really are sorry your son came to harm in our hands."

Which only proved that Tony Stark might be the genius, but in all realities Steve Rogers was the actual brains of the operation. 

Frigga, not at all mollified smiled a Discovery Channel smile at Rogers. For the second time that day Tony demonstrated that common sense wasn't an entirely foreign concept. 

"Your Majesty? I can take you to Loki now."

"Thank you," Frigga murmured, turning away from the Extravengers-- although the look on her face suggested she might be _saving them for later._

Tony led the way down the hall. 

~oOo~

Loki didn't exactly resist the idea of staying in the bedroom by himself, but when Mitchell tried to leave him in there to rest, Loki promptly followed him back into the sitting room. Mitchell didn't argue with him. He settled Loki on the sofa, then went back to the bedroom-- Loki immediately followed him-- to fetch the quilt off the bed. 

Mitchell ushered Loki back to the sofa, tucked the quilt around him, and sat down beside him, resting a hand on his friend's ankle. Loki was still both hot and shivery, his shoulder sore, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. However, the pain in his chest had subsided, and the sensation of Mitchell's cold hand was reassuring, like an anchor. 

"Do you want to watch television at all?" Mitchell asked. Loki shook his head and closed his eyes. He wanted Mitchell, and his brother, and-- and _Annie and George._ Two of them he had, and two he _remembered,_ knew were _real,_ and surely he would see them soon. At this moment he could not think of a single other thing to want. 

"Mr. Odinson?" came the courteous voice above their heads. "Mr. Stark would like to speak to you."

"Which Mr. Stark?" Mitchell instantly demanded, and the sharpness in his voice made Loki's heart skip a beat. 

"Shall I ask him to prove his identity?" the voice-- _JARVIS, his name was JARVIS,_ Loki remembered suddenly-- asked. 

Mitchell glanced at Loki, patted his ankle, and agreed, "That's a good idea."

"Very well, sir. I shall ask him to describe Mr. Odinson's pet cats. Would you care to listen to his answer for verification purposes?"

"Sure," Mitchell agreed. A moment later, through the same speaker JARVIS's voice issued from, they could hear Tony Stark's voice rattling on:

"The girl one is Elizabeth, she's easy, she's mostly black with white toes and a little white-- not a necktie, exactly, she's a girl so you wouldn't say necktie, but, like, a little scarf, Pepper would know what to call it. Or maybe a locket, although it's kind of big for a locket. The boy is Philip, he's more half and half, he's got-- well, he looks like he's wearing a black cape, and a cowl like Cap's, only black and white, actually he looks a bit like a vampire kitten with his little cape and his little fangs, no offense Mitchell, and-- "

"That's definitely our Tony Stark, isn't he?" Mitchell addressed Loki, whose mouth had curled a little into a smile. "Do you want him to come in?" 

Before Loki could think about his answer, JARVIS interrupted.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Mitchell-- Mr. Stark does not wish to come in. He has a message for Mr. Odinson."

"Go ahead," Mitchell said, when Loki nodded.

"Hi, Loki," Tony's voice came through the speaker. "Your mom's here, and she wants to see you."

Loki sat up abruptly, wincing as his injured shoulder was jolted. "Mother? She, she is here?" His voice was high and thin in his own ears. It had not occurred to him to think his _mother_ would… his _mother--_

And then his heart was pounding as he wondered what could have compelled her to travel all this way just to find him. Thor had said he had no part in the attack on New York (he remembered New York now, it was one of the places Tony Stark lived) but he had done other things, he remembered some of them, and the Avengers had punished him--

_Wait, was that right?_

Thor had been happy to see him. He had said so. He had _smiled,_ and embraced Loki, and said he was glad to see him again.

Tony had brought him to this room to rest. He had let Mitchell come with him, and had told JARVIS not to let anyone in who Loki did not wish to see. He had given Loki this robe to wear now that he was no longer a bird-- 

_None of them was angry with him._

But still-- "Why does she want to see me?" Loki asked nervously. 

_"Why?"_ Tony repeated. "Because she's worried about you, buddy. Heimdall told her you're here, and that you're hurt, and she wants to bring you back to Asgard to look after you. Do you want to see her?"

Loki gulped. "Yes, please." He got to his feet, pulling the robe around himself as well as he could with only one working hand. A moment later, the door opened. Frigga walked into the suite with a warm smile, hands extended, uttering a reassuring croon that promptly had Loki-- apprehension forgotten-- stumbling across the room and into her arms.

Tony, Mitchell, and Eir exchanged glances. It was hard to tell which if them was the most relieved.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** I should have specified this before: as most readers have already noticed, the A!vengers are referred to by their surnames, while the H!verse characters call each other by their given names. The exception to this rule is that A!Loki currently calls H!Natasha by her surname, and refers to her that way in his head. This is because I cannot imagine him being on a first name basis with any of the Avengers at this point. That will certainly have to change if and when the two sets of heroes cross paths with each other and Loki.
> 
> **Warnings:** None.

"Tell me, Captain Rogers, _exactly_ what sort of harm was visited upon my son while he was in your custody," Frigga demanded, in a tone that sounded very much like a prelude to "off with their heads." It was _extraordinarily_ easy to imagine _Ride of the Valkyries_ playing in the background.

She had emerged from the hallway to the bedrooms a moment ago and waved the others out to the balcony-- Loki hadn't much wanted to let go of her, but between them Eir and Mitchell had persuaded him. And just as well, Tony thought, if things were about to get ugly: when he was in fighting condition Loki might enjoy a good dustup as much as anyone, but Tony couldn't imagine him being anything but upset at the sight of his mother this angry.

_Angry_ was probably a foolhardy understatement, actually. At the moment Tony was just grateful the Allmother wasn't in the habit of walking around armed. 

Rogers' face was a study, and Tony almost felt kind of sorry for him. Well, as sorry as you could feel for someone whose _misunderstanding_ had resulted in a friend getting so messed up his first instinct was to turn himself into a bird and try to fly away from you. He glanced back at Steve, reminding himself which was which, and then waited to see if Rogers could talk his way out of this one. 

"I really am sorry, ma'am," Rogers said stiffly, obviously feeling his way through this, unused to talking to royalty but doing his Captain America best to be courteous and appropriate. It was pretty hard to stay mad at him when he was being so _Steve_ about the whole thing. 

Although, when Tony sneaked another peek at the real thing, it seemed _Steve_ could stay mad at _himself_ without any trouble at all. 

Across the room, Rogers was saying, 

"You have to understand, a little over a week ago we were attacked by an army led by… by _a_ Loki. We didn't realize this wasn't the same one."

"That is ridiculous," Thor-- real Thor-- spoke up. He was looking the other Thor dead in the eye as he did so, huge shoulders square, a full-on Discovery Channel alpha challenge. "You of all people should have seen the difference between my brother and your own." 

"They looked the same," other-Thor protested. "When he fell from the Bifrost, that is _exactly_ what my brother looked like."

"And when he was chained and muzzled in the cells of Asgard?" real-Thor asked, with fine sarcasm. "Dirty and stinking and dying of injuries and thirst? Are you telling me you could not tell the difference between that brother and the one who appeared to you _in his pyjamas,_ trying to explain the mistake?"

Okay, when you put it that way, Tony found it pretty easy to be angry after all. 

"What did you do to him, Captain Rogers?" Frigga asked again, not allowing herself to get sidetracked. 

Rogers set his shoulders like he was expecting a blow-- not that this was a bad guess-- and explained, 

"Given our experiences with what we now know was a different Loki, we thought he was up to something, and we tried to question him." Wincing, Rogers admitted, "And, because we were expecting a certain kind of answer, we leaned on him pretty hard to try and get it." 

_"Leaned on?"_ Frigga repeated, clearly unfamiliar with the idiom but able to guess its meaning. "Tell me, Captain, what form did this _leaning_ take?" 

Rogers flushed. "We… we inadvertently gave him the impression we posed a threat to… a schoolyard. In England."

It wasn't one bit funny, but that didn't stop Tony bursting into incredulous laughter. "You're kidding. You're not kidding. Do you people have any idea how lucky you are not to have been trampled to death by magical rhinoceroses?"

"Or strafed to pieces by magical fighter planes," Steve murmured. 

Frigga gave no sign of noticing the interruption. "And this impression resulted in the condition _my son_ is in? How did that happen?"

Rogers, unbelievably, turned even redder. "We… were given intelligence that the best way to restrain him was by binding his magic. So we… marked symbols on him." 

There was about a second of silence while Frigga digested this information. Then she looked at the only person who could have provided the _intelligence_ Rogers spoke of. 

Other-Thor opened his mouth, but before he could utter a sound Frigga had taken three long steps across the room. The resounding _slap!_ of her hand connecting with his cheek was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room. Thor looked stunned, although not any more than the rest of them. Frigga cast a baleful look around at the rest of the Extravengers as she said,

"I wish you safe travels back to where you belong, and heartily urge you to leave without delay. Your actions may have earned you the friendship of that other Asgard. You may rest assured that such is not the case with regard to my realm, and it is best if you do not trespass further on my forbearance." She turned to real-Thor and asked, "Will you come say farewell to your brother?"

Thor, who was no idiot, followed his mother out onto the balcony, leaving in their wake one of the most uncomfortable silences in recorded history. 

Tony, being Tony, was the one to break it. Suddenly exhausted and sick of the whole situation, he said,

"All right. Coulson, how about you keep trying to reach Strange, and I'll get someone on booking this bunch into a hotel somewhere before we head north. I don't want these assholes in my house." 

Outside, there was a flash of light as Frigga took her son back to Asgard.

~oOo~

It took every spark of his returned power for Loki to remove the enchantments on the humans, and when he was finished nothing but pride kept him from lying on the floor in exhaustion. Nina, George and Annie were fully occupied offering comfort to the pitiful creatures, as might be expected. Somewhat to his own surprise, Loki felt little resentment. Perhaps he was simply too tired to bother with an emotional reaction. Certainly, the friends' actions were predictable, given their characters.

Agent Romanov, apart from ascertaining that the humans were in good health, had as little interest in them as Loki. This may have been the reason she withdrew to the kitchen, gesturing to Loki to follow. It was hardly unexpected, since she had probably arrived with orders to interrogate him. Now the immediate crisis had passed, of course she would waste no more time. 

"Couch is over there," Romanov informed him conversationally, gesturing toward the far end of the space, which seemed to encompass a sitting room as well as cooking facilities. Loki followed her gesture with his eyes and saw a large and overstuffed sofa. Romanov remarked, "You probably could use a rest after casting all that magic."

Loki forbore to reply to such an obvious remark. And since even the short walk to the kitchen had emphasized his own weakness to himself-- he was actually wobbling on his feet-- he also saw little point in trying to stand upon his dignity by rejecting the offer of comforts. He would do his own cause no good if he fainted. 

Romanov obviously wished to speak to him, but she seemed in no hurry to come to the point. Instead, she opened the large refrigerator, peered inside, and emerged carrying two small red-and-white metal cylinders. These she carried over to where Loki sat upon the sofa. She seated herself in a comfortable chair that matched the sofa, then manipulated some sort of fastening on the top of the cylinder. There was a hissing sound, and Romanov leaned forward to offer the thing to Loki. 

"My friend Clint Barton would say you look like you need a little Coke and sympathy," she remarked. Loki blinked, and she added, "Apparently it's a reference to a song. Not that I'm particularly great at the sympathy thing, but sugar and caffeine always seems to help our Loki after he's cast a lot of magic." 

_Caffeine_ was another word previously unknown to Loki, like _shampoo_ and _rhinoceros,_ and Romanov probably knew it. But he accepted the cylinder and, when Romanov opened and drank from hers, he followed suit. The drink was bubbly, harshly sweet, and he could not decide whether he liked it. It did, however, make him feel slightly more alert. 

Romanov sipped her drink, eyeing Loki thoughtfully, and finally addressed him:

"Whatever happened to you before you came here had something to do with us, didn't it? With the Avengers, I mean." 

"You seem to know all about it," Loki replied drily. "Perhaps you should tell me."

Romanov smiled tightly. "All right. To summarize: you appeared in the house on Windsor Terrace wearing chains forged in Asgard, and a muzzle made here on Earth. You'd been badly beaten up, and you hadn't had food or water for quite a while. When Thor appeared you tried to make a run for it, you're tense around me, and Thor is pretty sure the muzzle was crafted by Tony Stark. How am I doing so far?"

"It is a most intriguing tale," Loki congratulated her. 

"Well, hang around, because it gets better. Also something Clint Barton would say." Her eyes narrowed slightly, possibly registering something in his expression as she repeated Barton's name. Schooling his face back into its mask, Loki returned her gaze coolly and sipped his fizzy drink. Romanov went on speaking as though nothing had happened: 

"Also, the witches who helped you out, back in Bristol, found evidence of someone tampering with your mind."

"I am sure they were appalled at the idea," Loki murmured into his drink. 

Giving no sign she was aware of the more recent _tampering,_ Romanov went on, "Obviously, we can't be sure what all this means-- "

"You could, of course, ask me," Loki suggested brightly. Romanov ignored the sally. 

"-- but we're not going to hold it against you unless it turns out we have to. Fair enough?"

"You would trust me?" Loki asked, his tone light and mocking. 

"Not me personally," Romanov replied, quite seriously. "But don't let that bother you, I have a _very_ short list of people I trust-- and I'm willing to bet your list is about the same length as mine. However, given the circumstances of your arrival, and what happened here last night, you should probably give some thought to the idea that, between us and Dr. Doom, we're the lesser of the two evils."

"Indeed?" Loki replied. "Remind me, please-- who was it who plucked me from my lonely cell in Asgard?" The admission was no more than these creatures had already guessed, and so cost little. 

"That was Doom, or so we believe," Romanov conceded. "And I'm sure it was a purely altruistic action, with no ulterior motives whatsoever." Loki smirked at her-- but the expression froze on his face as the woman went on, "Much like who- or whatever plucked you from the void, after you fell from Asgard. You might want to think about how well that seems to have worked out for you." She leaned forward in her chair and said quietly, "The other Avengers, at least some of them, will be arriving soon to investigate whether Doom is still active in the area. They don't have to be your enemies. That'll be up to you."

Unable to move, Loki sat with his hand clenched around the red and white cylinder. Romanov finished her drink, then got up and left the room. 

~oOo~

Seriously, there were times when Clint felt like he'd never left the circus. Or maybe he _wished_ he had never left the circus. He'd never personally been a clown, but riding around in a clown car could not possibly be a stupider idea than riding around in a _hatchback_ full of _effing vampires,_ trying to rescue the vampire leader in the hope he'd be able to talk the rest of them back down before they threw in with the wrong-- read, _extra-murderous--_ crowd.

Seriously, wasn't this supposed to be Mitchell's gig, or something?

_Ours is not to reason why,_ Clint told himself. No, his was but to do-- and try not to die.

The next vampire safe house had a convenient alley where Clint could park the car. Once again, the house appeared to be empty. Once again, vampires did not seem overly concerned about the possibility of someone breaking into their residence. Clint had no trouble with the door. 

This time, though, it was obvious from the moment they walked into the house that both Daisy and Geoff sensed something. Daisy already reminded Clint of a cat-- beautiful, hyperalert, probably crazy-- but when they walked into that house he could almost see her hackles rise. Geoff, already twitchy, looked practically ready to climb out of his skin. 

"Spider senses tingling?" Clint asked, keeping a sidelong eye on his companions-- and incidentally one hand inside his jacket. 

"Someone has expended a lot of power here recently," Daisy explained tensely. That kind of sounded like a dirty joke waiting to be told-- or maybe that was just him-- but since Clint wasn't stupid he restrained himself. He did, however, register the use of "power" to describe what Loki probably would have referred to as "magic." It might have meant nothing, but with vampires involved he kind of didn't think so. The creatures struck him as very hierarchical. 

"How recently?" he asked. "Can you tell?" 

Daisy's lips parted, and once again he was reminded of the kind of gesture a cat made when it was trying to taste a smell, and also of Loki "smelling" magic. 

"It's not so much fresh as… heavy," she said finally. 

"Which means-- ?" Clint prompted. 

"It's still active," Geoff spoke up, practically vibrating. "There's something here."

"Some _thing,_ or some _one?"_ Clint asked. There was a moment's pause, and then--

"Thing," Geoff and Daisy said together. 

"It's a spell of some kind," said Daisy.

"Isn't that Dr. Doom a kind of wizard?" asked Geoff.

"That he is," Clint agreed. "Does it feel like it's stronger anywhere in particular?"

"Dunno," Geoff said. "We haven't been anywhere else yet."

_Great, a smartass vampire._ Clint had thought that was just Mitchell. "Can you tell if there's anyone else in here?" Both vampires shook their heads. "Okay. Well, let's have a look around." 

They found no sign of occupancy on the main floor, and Clint started for the staircase. Halfway up, however, Geoff grabbed at his arm-- and incidentally nearly got himself staked. 

"No, no," the vampire said hastily, nearly falling down the stairs as he scrambled back with his hands up, "I'm not-- it's just-- that sensation feels weaker as we're going up the stairs."

"Daisy?" Clint prompted. 

"I felt the same thing," she confirmed. Clint considered. Obviously, he'd be stupid to trust a couple of apex predators about anything. On the other hand, they still hadn't found Ivan, and he did think Daisy intended to play fair at least until they did that. And certainly the presence of a lingering spell on the house indicated a sorcerer had been here, who given the circumstances pretty much had to be Doom. There were probably any number of reasons for Doom to leave a spell on the house, but trapping Ivan certainly could be one of them. 

He certainly wished he had Loki here to ask-- or that he'd asked more questions in the past about how magic worked-- but he was pretty sure a spell could be cast to hang around even when the person who cast it wasn't there. That was the idea behind the guardian rhinos, right? So, if they assumed Doom had been here, and had cast a spell that continued to do a job in his absence--

"Fine, let's see if there's a basement," Clint suggested. "Maybe the magic is even stronger down there."

The basement stairs were located just off the kitchen. After quickly thinking over the situation-- and deciding there really was no ideal way to do this-- Clint made Geoff and Daisy go down the stairs first. He didn't much care for the idea of the two of them waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, but he liked the thought of either of them between him and the way out even less.

Clint had a small, powerful flashlight with him, and he gave it to Geoff to lead the way. He was gambling that Geoff wasn't bright enough to think of blinding him by shining the light in his eyes-- Daisy, he figured, was much likelier to come up with an idea like that. As it turned out, Geoff was too busy panicking about what might be in the depths of the cellar to think about turning on Clint. 

Geoff was also too busy panicking to pay close attention to where he was putting his feet-- and that was why he tripped over the body on the floor, dropping the flashlight, which went out. 

Daisy shrieked, Clint cursed, and Geoff spluttered apologies as he scrambled after the flashlight. He found it, jiggled the bulb, and the light came back on.

Daisy screamed again and dropped to her knees beside the body. Clint had one horrible moment where he thought, _Shit, Ivan's dead, and I am too._

And then he remembered a line from the Johnny Depp movie, _Sleepy Hollow_ (which he absolutely had not been made to watch just because Tash once had a thing for Johnny Depp, not a chance.) The line was, 

_That's just the trouble: he was dead to begin with._

Vampires were already dead, yeah, but when they were _dead_ -dead, they turned into dust, right? 

"Daisy!" he almost barked, and stood his ground when she slewed around with a snarl. "Can you still feel that magic?"

Daisy's glassy eyes came back into focus. "What?"

Clint enunciated carefully. "The spell. Can you still feel it? Is it affecting Ivan right now?" 

Daisy looked down at the figure lying on the floor in front of her. He certainly _looked_ dead, with his half-open eyes and grayish pallor, and the fact Daisy was so freaked out seemed to suggest he didn't look like this when he was doing whatever passed for sleeping when you were a vampire. 

However, as she looked at him Daisy seemed to calm down. Apparently she had also remembered the little detail about turning to dust. Anyway, she glanced up at Clint and admitted, 

"I think you're right. It does seem to be attached to him."

"And this isn't something you've ever run into before?" Clint asked, just to be clear. Daisy shook her head, and Clint made up his mind. "Okay, then, let's get him out of here. Daisy, you stay with him for a minute while I pull the car up outside. Geoff, go see if you can find some blankets or something like that."

"But-- " Geoff began, looking apprehensive. Daisy snarled at him-- it took all Clint's self-control not to recoil at the sudden display of fangs and blackened eyes-- and Geoff apparently decided possible bogeymen upstairs were the lesser evil. He clattered up the stairs to the main floor, leaving Clint and Daisy with Ivan. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked, looking suddenly defenseless. 

_Apex predator,_ Clint reminded himself. "I'll take you three to a hotel someplace where you'll be safe. Safer. We'll work out how to wake Ivan after that."

Daisy looked at him from under lowered eyelashes _(apex predator!)_ and said demurely, 

"You're very kind."

"That's what everyone says," Clint replied evenly, and went off to get the car.

~oOo~

It was hard to leave Mitchell and Thor behind-- Loki was later embarrassed to recall that, when his brother embraced him in farewell, his mother had to coax him a little to let go. But he did, they were carried back to Asgard. For the first time since his fall-- perhaps before his fall-- Loki actually felt too dreadful to feel any apprehension about returning there. 

Despite the human healer's best efforts, and the release of his magic, Loki's injured shoulder had become extremely painful. When he arrived in the healing rooms, Eir immediately turned her attention to it, so within a blessedly short time the wound was healed except for two round scars, and the shoulder, while terribly stiff, no longer hurt nearly so badly. 

Asgard's healers were extremely adept with wounds. Flu was another matter. Loki still felt hot and cold in waves, it was difficult to breathe, and he was subject to painful fits of coughing. Eir clucked and frowned at him, puzzled rather than disapproving, and laid a hand on his forehead. 

"I have never seen such an illness," she admitted. 

"It is very common on Midgard," Loki mumbled. 

"And what do the Midgardians do for it?" Eir asked. 

"They try not to cough on one another," Loki replied, and promptly coughed heavily into the crook of his elbow before adding hopefully, "And then they go to bed with a hot drink until they feel better."

"Then that is where we will begin," Eir decided. 

Before being put to bed, however, Loki was allowed a hot bath. This was a tremendous relief: by now it seemed to have been a very long time since he last bathed, and besides he was all over dried blood for some reason he really preferred not to know. There were herbs added to the bath water, mint among them, and so the steam rising from the bath seemed to loosen the heavy congestion in his chest. It was nearly as good as being at home.

To his secret relief, Eir decided she wanted Loki under her eye while she worked out a cure for his illness, and so he was not made to go to his old chambers. Instead, he was given a bed in the corner of the chamber, under the windows set high in the walls. The room was very bright, but Loki was so tired that was of little importance. 

And besides, he was very glad to be able to see the sky. 

He was nearly asleep when his mother came back. She shushed him when he tried to rouse himself to greet her. 

"Hush, go to sleep," she soothed, laying a hand on his forehead. It was warmer than Annie's, but still felt cool against his skin. "Your father and I will come see you when you wake, and Eir will devise a spell or potion to cure this illness. Sleep."

And-- with a most peculiar feeling that all this was both unprecedented and yet somehow very familiar-- Loki did.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** It's been quite some time since we spent any amount of time in H!Loki's point of view, at least with him rational enough to appreciate it. So this chapter is entirely devoted to H!Loki being all there. We'll get back into multiple perspectives in the next chapter.
> 
> **Warnings:** None I can think of. Honest.

When Loki's eyes opened, he realized at once that he was not at home: there were no friendly eaves hovering close above his head, no children's drawings stuck to the plaster-- no plaster, in fact: the wall he was looking at was made of stone-- no purring kittens. Instinctively, he kept still. He was not afraid, exactly, but he was in an unknown place with no recollection of how he had gotten there, and it seemed wisest to draw no attention to himself until he got his bearings. Accordingly, he closed his eyes, did not move, and continued to breathe as though he was asleep, even as he was listening desperately.

He felt quite strange, stiff and sore and aching all over, the way he had as a youngster when first they began to drill with a quarterstaff. They had spent what felt like hours ducking and dodging imaginary enemies, miming blows and counter-blows with the heavy staffs until they were exhausted. In those very early days of training Loki and Sif-- younger and smaller than the others-- always tired first, but would each refuse to either admit it or yield before the other. They would push themselves until their strikes were sloppy and Tyr lost patience with them. The next morning, even without having taken any blows, Loki would be sore all over and trying hard to conceal the fact. 

He felt like that now, as though he had violently overexerted himself for an extended period, although he had no memory of having done so. That really was a little frightening.

It was difficult to breathe, lying flat like this, and his mouth felt dry from breathing through it. He also felt much too warm, but dared not stir to remove the bedclothes that lay over him. And then, a moment later, he was wracked by chills that almost made him clutch those same covers up around his ears. What sort of spell was this?

_Flu._ The thought-- memory-- struck him suddenly. That was what was wrong with him, he had an illness called flu. He had been sent home from work because he was ill-- had transported himself home with magic so as to avoid coughing on his fellow travelers on the bus, and startled Annie when he appeared at her elbow. He remembered all of that, now. And then, he thought, he had decided to lie down on the sofa. 

He had obviously slept, and had a series of disturbing dreams. They must have been dreams-- how he missed the days when he did not remember his dreams!-- because he seemed to remember the Avengers being very angry at him. In the dreams, they _hated_ him, and Thor had-- Thor had been all wrong, as though he had been replaced with someone else who looked like Thor but behaved as if… as if he-- 

_That was the fever,_ Loki promised himself, fighting down a surge of anxiety. It had to be the fever, that made him imagine such things. He must have imagined them. 

But he had fallen asleep on the sofa at home, and now he was somewhere else, and that was real.

_Were the dreams real, too?_

Loki carefully continued to breathe slowly and deeply, as though he was still asleep, trying to control a rising feeling of anxiety. Under the covers, his hands clenched. 

_Covers._

Wherever he was, whoever had him, he was in a comfortable bed, under warm covers, and not in some dank cell-- _glass walls, a hard bench with thin padding--_

Loki jerked his mind back to the present, pushing the image away. Surely the circumstances argued against anything really terrible having happened to him, no matter how unpleasant his dreams. Wherever he was, and why, someone was caring for him. 

_Remember the time Tony Stark took you in,_ Loki reminded himself sternly. Well, he did not actually _remember_ the incident, but he knew what had happened: he had panicked, and fought with some of the Avengers, and had to be restrained to prevent him hurting himself or any of Tony and Thor's friends. 

_Probably best not to panic this time._ He might even be in another of Tony Stark's homes, and the last thing he wanted to do was stage a repeat performance of his earlier escapade. Eventually the Avengers were bound to lose patience with him. 

Which, once again, forcefully reminded him of the dreams, and he had to suppress a shudder. 

Loki allowed his eyes to open a tiny slit, and was just about to turn his head to peep at his surroundings when he heard voices nearby.

"Have you come to consult with Eir?" The voice was young, male, and sounded somehow familiar. "Or is a patient of yours here in the palace? I thought your work was among the people of the town."

"No," replied a rather older female voice-- and this one, Loki really felt he should know. "The queen asked me to look in on her son."

"Her _son?"_ repeated the young man. The emphasis was peculiar, considering the queen only _had_ sons. The man's confusion was explained by his next words: "But you are a midwife!"

A _midwife?_ Loki controlled his surprise, and his breathing, then mentally canvassed his person. Still male, and as far as he could tell not with child. Or in foal, for that matter. Apparently, whatever he had been up to had not encompassed shapeshifting into a woman-- or re-enacting stories from human mythology. 

Well, that was a relief. 

The woman laughed, and Loki really did think he had heard that sound before. 

"When the princes were very small, I was for a time their nursery maid. The queen thought her son might like to see me." 

_Hildr._ Loki's heart gave a hard bump in his chest as he recognized her voice at last. He had indeed been very small, Thor as well, in the days when their world was the nursery and Hildr was at its centre. She had been young and impatient, often exasperated-- especially with Loki, who was clingy and whiny where Thor was independent and outgoing-- but also playful and affectionate and _always there._ From the time they woke in the morning until they went to bed at night-- and in the middle of the night, when Loki woke cold and afraid, looking for comfort-- Hildr was always there.

Until the day she was not. 

There was the sound of the male healer walking away. When Loki could no longer hear footsteps, he stretched, as if only now waking, and sat up halfway. 

As soon as he did, of course, he saw the high arched windows in the walls above him and knew he was in the healing room of Asgard. But his attention was focused on the figure sitting in the chair beside the bed. 

"Welcome back, my prince," she said, with a smile that he only afterward recognized as rather nervous.

At the time, Loki was aware only of a rush of emotion as he looked at his old nursery maid. For a moment or two he really could not speak. Finally, though, he managed, 

"Hildr-- it is good to… I am very glad… " As he could not think of a single sensible thing to say, he finally mumbled, "Your-- your mother. Is she well? I remember she was very kind to me, she used to hold me-- "

He stopped, embarrassed, but Hildr's expression was warmer now, surprised. 

"Fancy you remembering that, and you such a little thing then." 

_Remember?_ He and Thor had spent days fruitlessly searching for Hildr, and Loki could not guess how many years he had lulled himself to sleep with made-up stories in which Hildr returned to her place in the nursery, especially after Thor took up residence in his own chambers. Even when he was much too old to need or want a nursery maid, when he was established in the chambers everyone still referred to as his, Loki had sometimes cast illusions for himself, when he woke up cold, of Hildr or her mother in a chair by a shaded lamp, reading or sewing.

Hildr was far from the first person Loki had ever lost, but hers was the first loss he consciously remembered.

"Your mother was very kind to me, and you were, too," Loki went on awkwardly. "I know I was difficult, but you-- "

He trailed off, and Hildr's fresh colour-- she must have been _very_ young in those long-ago days-- deepened. 

"I have always been sorry for those terrible stories I told you," she told him. "About the Frost-- about the Jotnar. When I heard what you had done, and then… where you came from, I was so sorry-- "

"No," Loki said, as firmly as he could with his throat beginning to feel tight. She had only told the stories in desperation, trying to frighten him into staying in bed at night so she could have a little peace. She had, after all, been only a girl herself. "You were hardly the only person in Asgard to hold such opinions, and anyway the stories stopped long before you left. Whatever I thought of the Jotnar, it was not your fault I did so. I was perhaps not entirely responsible for my crimes, but that was because my mind was deranged, not because anyone else made me commit them. I… I loved you very much, and I missed you terribly, when you went away." 

It was clear Hildr did not know exactly what to make of this, and no wonder: she had been far more important to Loki than he could ever have been to her, fond as she might have been of her little charges at the time. Still, she reached out to take his hand-- he would have to remind her to wash hers thoroughly, before she left the palace, to protect her patients from his germs-- and squeezed it. 

"You were not so difficult," she said quietly. "I was very sorry to leave you. And my mother and I were both very glad when… when you and your family were reconciled. You are happy on Midgard?"

"Yes," Loki assured her, and then his throat cleared as he laughed. "My work is with children. They torment the life out of me. I am quite sure it is a judgement for how I pestered you." 

Hildr laughed with him, and then Eir appeared. Hildr took her leave, with a final invitation for Loki to come, when he felt better, and see her mother. Loki accepted, hoping the invitation was sincere and that he would find the courage to actually make the visit.

And then he made a nervous gesture to push back his hair-- purely out of habit, since it was not falling in his eyes-- and froze when his fingers encountered bare skin at his temple. 

"You had a misfortune," Eir calmly answered his unspoken question. "Your mother and I were not certain how much you would remember, and we thought it best not to do anything that might cause confusion when you woke."

Thinking of his dreams, and still bewildered, Loki felt his heart accelerate. "What sort of misfortune?" he asked carefully. 

"Your mother will be able to explain more fully, but you seem to have been cast into another universe, from which your friends rescued you. But between your illness and the effects of some malign sorcery, it seemed best to return you to Asgard, to let you recover here. Now," Eir went on, producing a glass flask from somewhere about her person, rather like a Midgardian conjurer, "I have made a preliminary study of your illness, and I believe this potion will do you good. Drink."

Loki was hardly fool enough to protest, despite his experience with the taste and texture of Eir's other potions. Wisdom dictated he hold his breath and gulp, which he did. 

The potion felt warm as it traveled down his throat, to cast a spreading ball of heat through his belly and up into his chest. Its intensity grew until Loki felt his breath might come out as steam. He felt hot all over, even more than when he was experiencing a wave of fever, and so lightheaded it seemed wisest to lie down. A moment later he was perspiring heavily, although he hardly noticed because the congestion in his head and chest seemed to be melting away and he was able to draw a full breath, even through his nose. 

The effects lasted for only a few minutes, and then he was lying on uncomfortably damp bedding, parched and tired and still sore, but neither feverish or congested. Eir laid a hand on his forehead-- Loki was uncomfortably aware that she did not need to push his hair aside-- and then the side of his throat. 

"I think that will have done it," she said conversationally. 

"Done what?" Loki asked stupidly. 

"Accelerated your body's natural efforts to dispose of the disease," she explained, retrieving the flask. "You should rest now, but you may feel more comfortable if you bathe and change your clothing. I will send an attendant to assist you. When you feel a little stronger, we can consider what to do with your hair." 

She was gone before Loki thought to thank her.

He felt considerably better after another bath, fresh garments, a drink of water and a little sleep. Which was good, because the attendant who came to check on him reported that the queen wished to see him, and Loki much preferred to be, as the humans said, _up and around_ for that. 

He also preferred not to be wearing sleeping clothes, but one could not have everything. 

Or perhaps one could: when Loki broached the matter, the young attendant remembered Eir bringing in a black case that had apparently been given her by one of the Midgardians, with a request to ensure it got to Loki. When he opened it and found his own clothing, from home, Loki momentarily had to struggle to maintain his composure. However, by the time his mother was announced, he was dressed and sitting in a chair under another tall window.

More alert now, Loki did not miss the little flinch when his mother saw him. He did not blame her, he must look like Gollum, but he also saw her relief to see him up and conscious. Courtesy dictated he rise, but the likelihood of turning giddy was so great he thought he had better not.

His mother did not seem offended. She crossed the room with her hands out to him, and Loki was glad enough to take and hold them while she kissed his temple. There was a second chair provided, near enough to continue holding his hand as she sat there, and that was what his mother did. The attendant withdrew to a discreet distance, where he could be signaled for but not overhear their conversation.

And then Frigga took a deep breath, let it out rather tremulously, and said, 

"It is good to see you looking so much better. And to have you back here. Your father and brother and friends and I have been terribly worried."

Loki made a face. In the most humorous tone he could manage, he offered, "I certainly hope at some point to stop being such an occasion of anxiety to you all."

"Well," his mother remarked, "it at least makes a change from all those centuries I spent worrying only about your brother." Before Loki could apologize for doubling his mother's worries-- since Thor had not exactly ceased the sort of activities that might cause a mother concern-- or thank her for sending Hildr to see him, Frigga went on, "Eir tells me there is a spell that will restore your hair, if you wish. She was concerned that it might sap your strength, so you must make your own decision."

Loki shifted uneasily. "I hate to think I am such a vain creature as all that," he objected half-heartedly. Which was only the truth, both parts: he was indeed such a vain creature, but he was very reluctant to admit as much. 

His mother smiled faintly. "A little ordinary vanity is hardly a serious flaw. And your experiences may have been upsetting enough for you and your friends that you might prefer not to have a constant reminder until such time as your hair grows."

"That is certainly true," Loki agreed, "but if we speak of reminders-- I do not really remember what happened to me." Frigga looked concerned, and Loki cursed himself before hurrying on, "That is to say, my memories are quite confused, and feel rather like dreams. I would appreciate help in sorting them out."

"Your father thinks it would be best if we all speak of this together," Frigga replied. "He was reluctant to come here-- you know the effect his presence has on the younger healers-- "

Loki knew the effect very well-- it was called "terror," and Odin inspired it in more than just young healers. He held his tongue as his mother went on, 

"-- but he would like to see you as soon as you are well enough to join him in his private chambers. We can talk about your experiences there. Now, would you like me to send for Eir?"

Loki considered the prospect of seeing his bald self in the mirror when he next cleaned his teeth, and Annie's expression at being forcefully reminded of what had happened to him, and the questions, and possible alarm, of the children when he returned to school. It made him feel tired and distressed just to think of it.

"Yes," he said. "If you would call for Eir, I would be very glad. And afterward, I would like to speak with you and Father." As his mother nodded, he added, "I was also very happy to see Hildr earlier. Thank you for sending her."

His mother smiled tiredly. "Your brother mentioned that you two had spoken of her. I wish I had thought to arrange such a reunion long ago. Or to consider the effect her loss must have had upon the two of you when you were small. All those disappearances cannot have been comforting." Without compelling him to answer, Frigga turned and gestured to the attendant.

~oOo~

The spell Eir cast did indeed make Loki feel dizzy, and also as though his head was changing shape. But the effects were rather like descriptions Loki had read of seasickness: they passed off almost as soon as the spell had accomplished its purpose, and he was able to accompany his mother to speak to his father. 

Odin's inner chambers were cozy and informal and almost never seen by anyone save the royal couple. Loki thought perhaps Thor used to come here to consult with their father, but they had never spoken of it. Certainly Loki had not been in the habit, and even now he felt a little awkward as he obeyed his father's directive to be seated. Odin surely noticed his son's anxiety, but after embracing him in greeting did not remark upon it.

"What can you tell us of your experiences?" Odin asked, when all three were settled. 

Loki ran a hand back through his hair, tugging at it partly to focus and partly because he could, and thought about it. 

"I was at ho-- in the house in Bristol," he corrected himself quickly, resisting the instinct to glance at his mother to check whether his wording had offended her. "I felt ill, and was sitting on the sofa with Annie and Mitchell, and then suddenly I was in a cell, and when I tried to reach for Yggdrasil to escape and go home, it felt… it was unfamiliar, and I would not be able to find my way. So I called for help, and the guards sent for Thor-- " His voice began to shake and he stopped to clear his throat before going on, "They sent for Thor, and he was very angry-- "

Odin leaned forward in his chair as Loki's voice failed. "Loki, your brother-- " he began. 

Loki shook his head violently. "He was _not_ my brother. He felt… wrong. I could tell he was not my brother, any more than Yggdrasil was the Yggdrasil I know." With a little rush of relief, he added, "And I knew our Thor almost the moment he appeared, just before Mother came."

"Good," Odin said, sitting back with a relieved expression. "This other Thor was angry? Did it appear to you that he knew Loki-- _a_ Loki-- was a prisoner?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, and it seemed Thor had taken him to the cell and left him there." He tugged at his hair again as he tried to remember. This part was coming clear in his mind now, at least. It was what came later he was missing. "His mother knew I was not her son, and she told the other Thor to find a way to return me where I belonged, and bring her Loki back." He fidgeted his hands together, rubbing his wrists. "I do not know how he managed the exchange, but-- "

"How the other Loki managed it, do you mean?" Odin asked. Loki nodded. "Your brother is quite sure he did not."

"No?" Loki faltered. "His mother believed-- " The look on his own mother's face was suddenly so ferocious that he fell silent. Odin glanced at Frigga, then returned his attention to Loki. 

"His mother may have had reasons for so believing," the Allfather said quietly, "but Thor tells us the other Loki was in such a weakened state that he was very unlikely to be able to manage such a working."

Loki froze. "Then who made the exchange? And why?"

"I do not know, but Thor believes whoever was responsible is in our reality stream, and probably has some evil purpose for him."

"And this other Loki took my place?" Loki demanded, entirely forgetting the courtesy due his parents, as well as all the other questions he had wanted answered. "He is in Bristol?"

"He has given no sign of wishing to harm your friends," Frigga assured him. "And I understand they have all left the city."

"But if this other sorcerer intends to _make use of--_ " Loki was not the only one who winced at the phrase-- "the other Loki, then _he_ will have gone to Bristol to look for him. To my _home."_

Any feelings of weakness or light-headedness fled as Loki abruptly stood. 

"I must go," he announced. 

Odin also rose to his feet. "You have not yet recovered your strength, child," he began, then stopped when Frigga lifted a hand. 

"Promise you will speak to your friends the Avengers before you do anything rash," the queen requested. When Loki looked uncertain, her tone became severe. "They will know what is happening, and how best you may assist them. Promise me."

"I promise," Loki muttered. 

"Thank you, my son. Now, go."

With a hasty bow toward his father, and a quick kiss to his mother's cheek, Loki went.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** So parts of this chapter turned into a love-song to the Honda Fit (or Jazz, as they are called in Britain.) Great little car, really.
> 
> Okay, it only occurred to me a couple of days ago that there's been quite a gap between updates, at least compared to what's been the practice for this story. Sorry, folks: I work at a university library so this is my busy season, plus I'm involved in a couple of extra projects at work and out of it. I just haven't had my act together to write much, so this chapter is a little shorter and more focused than usual. Sorry!
> 
> **Warnings:** In Canada, there are often chain hotels located near airports. A little general research tells me this is often the case in Britain as well. I confess I have no idea if it holds true for Bristol, but if not let's pretend that, in a reality in which Loki is an honest-to-Odin good guy, there are also chain hotels near the Bristol airport.

Clint found a parking space almost directly in front of the house, which was lucky. Most of the neighbourhood seemed to be at work, which was luckier. Anyway, there was no sign of activity on the street or at the windows overlooking it. Clint got out of the little hatchback, opened the back door on the driver's side, and flipped down the rear seats. Ivan was pretty tall, but maybe they could wedge him in crossways or fold him or something.

"Where the hell is Tash when I need her," he muttered out loud. Tash was amazing at packing everything from a suitcase to the trunk of a car, and this certainly wouldn't be the first body she'd ever dealt with. Although it wasn't his first, either, so he supposed he could make do. Clint shut the car door and jogged up the steps to the vampires' safe house. As he let himself in through the front door he was nearly knocked off his feet by Geoff, hustling down the stairs carrying a bundle of blankets he could hardly see over. Clint waved off the vampire's spluttered apologies.

"We probably don't need quite this many blankets," Clint remarked, looking at the pile. Apparently, Geoff had stripped every bed in the house and also raided the linen closet. And maybe robbed a couple of nearby clotheslines as well. 

"Do you think warming him up will help?" Geoff asked hopefully, apparently confused about how being a vampire worked, _even though he was one._ There were a number of ways Clint could have answered, but none of them seemed helpful right now. 

"No," he said finally, "I don't. But we need to get him out of here."

Geoff thought about that for a second before light appeared to dawn. "Oh." And then, "I don't think Daisy's going to like that."

"Daisy is going to have to lump it," Clint replied, with what he considered heroic restraint, and gestured to Geoff to lead the way to the basement. 

As predicted, Daisy wasn't one bit happy with Clint's plan for getting Ivan out of the house, but she didn't have any better ideas. And she didn't express her displeasure by ripping Clint's throat out, which Clint figured was about as much as he could ask. 

Daisy spread the blankets on the floor, overlapping them to account for Ivan's height. After that, Clint and Geoff lifted the stricken vampire, who was damned heavy-- of course, he was after all a deadweight--onto the blankets. Fortunately Ivan was limp instead of in some sort of magical rigor mortis, so his limbs were relatively easy to manipulate. Since Clint had found his treacherous brain reciting Robert Service's "Blasphemous Bill McKie" (about a gold prospector who froze solid in a spread-eagled posture, with attendant difficulties related to getting him into a coffin) this was a relief.

Having no idea whether vampires were experienced at this sort of thing, or whether they tidied up after meals at all, Clint took the lead in organizing the blankets. He folded one end over Ivan's head, the other over his feet, then gestured to Geoff to help him roll.

A couple of minutes later, they had a lovely blanket burrito with a delicious chewy vampire centre. Those judge dudes on _Masterchef_ would have been impressed all to hell. 

_Okay, new rule: Thor no longer gets to pick TV shows we watch._

Shaking off the momentary distraction, Clint took charge once again. 

"Geoff, grab his feet," he commanded. "I've got his head. Daisy, you open doors. Let's get him into the car." Daisy, possibly thinking about the size of the black Honda, looked incredulous. Clint gave her a stern look. "Come on, Daisy, let's go."

With obvious reluctance, Daisy went. Clint, Geoff, and Ivan followed, with Clint taking care not to let Ivan's head bump into anything as they went. Dead at the moment Ivan might well be, but if the spell wore off suddenly Clint preferred not to give the vampire any particular reason to be pissed at him. 

The Honda turned out to be even bigger on the inside than Clint thought it was, and they were able to slide Ivan in through the hatch, angle him across the cargo hold, fold him up a little and then flip one back seat up so Geoff had a place to sit and a seatbelt. Clint might be, as one of the old guys at the circus used to say, a scofflaw (despite the fact he was, at least technically, in law enforcement himself these days) and certainly if they were in an accident the only one getting hurt would be Clint, but he certainly didn't want to get pulled over because some cop happened to notice one of them didn't have a seatbelt on. 

Having a pretty good memory for directions, Clint made his way out to the highway-- which was called something different in Britain, but he wasn't in the mood for a vocabulary lesson from vampires-- heading for the airport. 

"Where are we going?" Daisy demanded.

"Hotel," Clint gave her the bare minimum of information. 

And then thought better of it, because if humans got testy when they thought they were being kept in the dark, surely vampires would be a whole lot worse. 

"There are a couple of chain hotels out by the airport," he explained. "I don't want to park you guys anywhere the staff is likely to take a personal interest in you, so that's seems like the safest option-- as long as you're careful."

_Yeah, that's gonna happen,_ he mentally scoffed. Regardless, he laid out the reasons for prudence: "Remember, it's important for you to keep a low profile for the next little while. If the other vampires do join Doom, they'll probably go after Ivan and everyone who supports him. Seriously, you two, the best thing for all of us is if you lie low, okay?"

"Okay," Geoff agreed at once-- which wasn't surprising, since Clint had Geoff pegged as the kind of guy who preferred to let someone else be in charge. Daisy continued to look mutinous, which also didn't surprise him, but she didn't protest: he'd expected the reminder of danger to Ivan to be enough to get her attention.

Clint and Daisy went into the hotel to register, leaving Geoff in the car with Ivan, Clint paying for the room with the SHIELD credit card he'd been issued. One interesting feature of that card was the fact transactions could be made perfectly openly and yet, thanks to some very cool behind-the-scenes Stark tech, be virtually untraceable in the financial system. (The card was only _virtually_ untraceable because Tony also had tech that could do so. Of course he did.)

The clerk who checked them in was more interested in Daisy than in Clint, which was predictable-- and also convenient from the point of view of the spy in the group. Clint stood back and affected a stupid-ass look of infatuation as he watched Daisy. (He was mostly channeling the look Tony got when he was looking at Pepper without realizing anyone else was paying attention. And maybe Loki at Annie, as well.) 

Daisy, in the meantime, was lounging against the counter in the most distracting manner possible. Really, the clerk probably wouldn't have noticed if Clint handed him a library card instead of the credit card. If he'd had a library card he might have tried it. 

"No eating the desk clerk," Clint warned under his breath as the two walked back to the car. 

"You're no fun," Daisy sniffed, but there was a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

By this time, thank God, it was getting dark. They pulled the car around to the side of the building. Between the three of them were able to wrangle the bundle of blankets and vampire out of the car, through the heavy security door, and up the fire stairs to the room. 

By the time they had Ivan unrolled and laid out on one of the beds, Clint was breathless and sweating. Probably Geoff would have been, too, but even wussy vampires were stronger than the strongest humans, and besides, Clint couldn't remember if vampires could sweat in the first place. Daisy hovered over Ivan, fussing over him as if he was aware of her presence. It was kind of sweet, in a homicidal sort of way. 

"Okay," Clint finally said, "I'll leave you here. Get some rest. I'll see what I can find out about…magic, or whatever."

_Seriously, this is my life. And where in hell is Loki when I need him?_

"How will we reach you?" Daisy demanded. 

"I'll reach you," Clint assured her, as he headed for the door. Paused, hand on the doorknob. "Seriously, you two, don't kill anyone." Daisy's response wasn't encouraging, and Geoff's would probably mean nothing as soon as Clint and his weapons were out of the room.

_Not my circus, not my monkeys,_ he reminded himself, then let himself out of the room and headed for the car. 

~oOo~

Loki stepped out of Yggdrasil into the back garden of his darkened little home. Through the kitchen window he could see there was not even a light on over the sink, confirming that nobody was expected home. 

Father had told him his friends had left Bristol. He should have asked Heimdall where they were, and the Avengers. It would have made the most sense. However, Loki did not want to make sense. He wanted to go home, and he wanted to speak to his friends directly, instead of having to be told where they were and what they were doing. 

And, if he would have to leave home again, he wanted to pack a bag for himself, with his own things in it. He and his friends had some quite recent experience, from the time SHIELD had been infiltrated by agents of evil, of being hounded from pillar to post with only what they stood up in. Loki did not much care to repeat the experience if he could possibly avoid it.

His magic felt tired and rather weak, but what he still commanded was sufficient to unlock the kitchen door. He slipped inside his house. A quick cast revealed no life within-- save for a few little scurrying beings in the cellar who had not yet attracted the attention of the kittens-- and none of the other energies corresponding to Annie, Mitchell, or Scamp.

So, they really had gone, all of them, and had taken all the pets with them. Loki leaned against the kitchen counter as the house welcomed him, and for a moment took what comfort he could in that. Then he passed through the beaded curtain into the lounge, and up the staircase to his bedchamber. Once inside the tiny, familiar room, he could not resist sitting down upon the bed for a moment, to gather his thoughts and calm himself. 

The lightweight, flowered quilt that was meant to be folded accordion-fashion at the foot of the bed was missing. Loki could not quite remember what had happened to it, but he felt a cold trickle of foreboding at the sight of that empty place. 

There was no particular reason for him to lean over to the little table where his reading lamp sat, to pull out the drawer and look inside, but he did so anyway. Perhaps he was trying to distract himself. 

He found his house keys and mobile phone where they belonged, even though he was quite sure he had last seen them in the lounge, dropped upon the coffee table. Someone-- _Annie--_ must have brought them up here and put them safely away. After letting his fingers rest gently on them for a time, Loki pocketed his keys-- he obviously did not _need_ keys to enter his house, but one did not always wish to use magic. And besides, having keys to the house meant one-- _he--_ belonged there.

Belonged _here._

Next, he tried to check his mobile, to see whether anyone had left him any messages, only to find that even in its sleeping mode the battery had drained itself. The charging cable was rolled up in the drawer, so Loki connected it and set his mobile to charging, while he began to pack his belongings to go wherever it was he needed to go. 

Owing to of the size of his bedchamber, most of his clothing was kept in storage containers under the bed. Loki was tidy by nature and kept careful track of his belongings, so it was not long before he noticed there were things missing. 

His plain-coloured t-shirts were stacked in the upper right corner of the storage container, separate from the ones with pictures or slogans, and Loki quickly realized that a black one and a dark blue were missing. At first he thought they might be in the wash, but he could not recall wearing them recently. And then looked at the stack of long-sleeved t-shirts and noticed that a black one-- which admittedly he seldom wore-- was missing as well. 

Loki sat very still for a moment, mentally inventorying the contents of the storage cabinet. Then he pulled out the second, which contained among other things his folded trousers, and looked inside. 

He spent a few minutes checking all his storage containers, then the clothes hamper in the bathroom. After that he went down to the basement to check the washing machine and drier. By the time he returned to his bedchamber, Loki was quite sure he was missing two pairs of jeans, several t-shirts, and various socks and underpants. Once again, he sat down on the edge of the bed to think it over.

It was hardly likely that a burglar had broken into the house and targeted Loki's clothing. His housemates had left Bristol, presumably taking the other Loki with them. Indications were that they had not dropped everything and fled, which meant they had time to pack a few necessities, exactly as he himself was doing. 

And that packing must have included a few necessities for the other Loki, who could hardly wander conspicuously about in Asgardian dress and who was obviously the same size as himself. It made sense, to lend him things to wear. It was a practical decision, and a kind one, and of course the housemates had made it. 

Sitting on his bed, unconsciously wringing his hands together, Loki was aware of a weight in his chest and a feeling of heat and coldness wriggling in his belly. He actually had to fight down the urge to break something, even though there was nothing in this little chamber he would be willing to lose. 

_Breathe._ In through his nostrils, out through his mouth. He concentrated on his heart rate, trying to slow it down to a normal pace, instead of stuttering in his chest as though he had just been chased over a great distance. 

Even as his heart slowed down, it continued to beat so violently it felt like a measured thumping in his chest, driving blood up into his head. He breathed deeply, trying to inflate his compressed lungs. It had been some time since he had felt like this, the sense of clenched misery that made him ache all over.

_Anger._

_Loneliness._

It was ridiculous, he thought, conscious of a rising desperation in his mind. He was being ridiculous. His friends had not abandoned him, had not put the other Loki into his place and forgotten all about him. They would not do that to him. They would _not._

_Jealousy._

And that was the truth, was it not? Jealousy was an old companion, one Loki knew very well. He had lied to himself, tried to pretend he no longer felt it, but all he meant was that of late he had little occasion to do so. Now, the old feeling came creeping once again, the conviction that he had been abandoned, left behind, _replaced…_

_Stop that._

Loki scrubbed at his face with his hands, trying to breathe evenly. He was being ridiculous. He was tired and anxious, both from the flu and from… whatever else had happened to him, and he was allowing his mind to play ridiculous tricks. 

_It did not feel ridiculous._

Loki stood, walked out into the hallway where he had a little room to pace. No, this sensation did not feel ridiculous. It never had.

_Fear._

He had nothing to be afraid of, Loki reminded himself. Annie and Mitchell and George-- his _friends--_ would not forget him, or simply replace him with the next Loki to come along. Especially not if this other Loki was, was violent and dangerous and evil--

\-- And if that was the case, his friends would hardly be traveling with him. Unless he had kidnapped them, in which case it seemed unlikely his parents would have failed to mention it, or his brother would not be trying to rescue them. 

So perhaps the other Loki had, had also been in need of rescue, in which case Annie and the others would not turn him away. But that did not mean they no longer cared for _him._

No, he had nothing to fear. Arms folded tightly across his chest, Loki paced and nodded to himself. And--

\-- He pictured Annie, tried to imagine her refusing to help someone in need, and failed. As he did so, he came to a welcome realization: he was angry, but not at Annie, not at his friends. He was angry at the other Loki, yes--

_No._

He was _jealous_ of the other Loki-- whether it made sense or no, he knew it was true-- but he was not really _angry_ at him. 

He was angry at whoever had done this to him, whoever had cast the spell that resulted in all his problems. He was _furious_ at this mysterious sorcerer, and angry at those other Avengers who had frightened him so badly. He would do something about that, he decided. 

_That other sorcerer would be sorry for this._ Loki would see to it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a new sound in the otherwise-silent house: the sound of a door opening. Loki turned, attention locked on the noise like a predator, nostrils flaring as if he could actually smell an enemy. Downstairs, the door closed softly, and the old staircase creaked as the intruder began to climb. 

Loki knew his home extremely well, and avoided squeaking floorboards as he went on silent feet into George's bedchamber, where he knew his friend kept a cricket bat. George did not of course _play_ the bewildering game, but he had acquired the bat at a time when he lived in an unsafe neighbourhood, and claimed it was a formidable weapon against burglars. 

It was perhaps not quite as efficacious when the trespasser happened to be a vampire, but given the rules governing the creatures, it seemed unlikely to Loki that such was the case. He certainly could not feel any particular magic in the house, although his own powers were at a low enough ebb he was not entirely sure he could trust them. For this reason, too, he elected not to use magic against the intruder. 

Well, that and the fact that he really wanted to hit something right now. 

Loki moved into the shelter of the doorway, bat lifted, and listened to the interloper approach.

~oOo~

Okay, Clint should have been more alert, but honestly he had been so alert for the last few hours that he needed to reset. As a result, when Loki came rushing into the hall brandishing a flat wooden bat, Clint was almost totally taken by surprise. 

Clint's reflexes were unusually good for a human, anyone who knew him would say so. However, _Loki's_ reflexes were unusually good for a _magical space alien,_ and he was exponentially stronger than a human besides. 

Also, Clint had a split second to register the look in Loki's eyes. It wasn't quite the _nobody home_ look he'd had that time at Tony's place, but he didn't seem to recognize Clint. 

The smartest reaction-- which was also the only one he had time for-- was to duck and cover, which Clint did. He also yelped,

"Jesus, Loki, don't!" 

He glanced up just as the bat came down. 

~oOo~

Loki stepped into the hallway to find the other Clint Barton had _followed him._ Into his _home._

It did not, at that moment, occur to him to wonder how in the Nine the other Barton could have known where Loki lived, or have gotten here in such a hurry. Anger, panic, and exhaustion had momentarily clouded his mind, to say nothing of his outrage that this creature was _inside his home._ There was a weapon in his hand, and he raised it.

"Jesus, Loki, don't!" Clint protested. 

Something about the quality of his tone penetrated Loki's anger and fear. _Clint,_ not _Barton._ Loki had no idea what his friend was doing here, but obviously he did not wish to smash him in the head. 

He jerked his hands to the side and let go of the bat, which left a nasty gouge in the plaster of the wall, then fell to the floor and went skittering toward the stairs. Both of them listened to the sound of it bouncing down the stairs as they stood facing one another, breathing hard. 

Finally, Clint broke the silence.

"What the fuck was _that?"_ he demanded. 

"A long story," Loki replied tiredly. "And I need a cup of tea. Come with me." 

Without further comment he walked past Clint, heading for the staircase. After a moment, Clint shrugged and followed him.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** It was surprisingly hard to find specs for the Quinjet. Memo to wiki writers: in the "History" section on the aircraft, could you please put in more information about type development and fewer recaps of the ENTIRE PLOT OF  THE AVENGERS? I just wanted to know if the Quinjet is STOL! In the third wiki I consulted, I did find out that it's VTOL-- Vertical Take-Off and Landing. Thank you! 
> 
> **Warnings:** Heroes can be arseholes-- but so can supervillains. Also, remember that in A!Loki's head, the Avengers are all referred to by surnames. Also, his impressions of the world are his own, and may or may not reflect objective reality or anyone else's intentions.

Thanks to the Quinjet's vertical landing capacity, the SHIELD pilot was able to set it down in a field, an easy walk to the lodge for the three Avengers.

Much to Tony's relief, Coulson and Thor had taken charge of the Extravengers. Coulson, obviously, could handle the situation (Coulson was his own mathematical equation: he was pretty much equal to anything), but Tony felt a little sorry for Thor. 

Unless, of course, Real-Thor intended to take advantage of the chance to have a moment alone with Othor. And possibly a big stick, which prospect filled Tony with savage good cheer.

"Mitchell? Are you coming with us, or do you want to stick with Coulson and Thor?" Steve had asked as he, Bruce, and Tony got ready to meet the Quinjet. 

Mitchell fidgeted, looking torn, before finally replying, "I think I'll stay with Coulson and Thor, and then I might actually go back to Bristol and see if Clint needs any help. Look, about the other Loki-- the best thing for you to do is to follow Annie's lead, all right? And don't crowd him if you can help it. I don't know if he'd be inclined to try to hurt you-- and anyway I'm pretty sure he couldn't even if he wanted to-- but if he panics or something he might be able to hurt _himself."_

Thinking about the condition their Loki had been in after only a couple of days in the custody of the Extravengers, Tony was quite willing to promise to be careful. Steve and Bruce naturally went without saying. 

So here they were, back in Scotland. Tony hadn't spent so much time here since he was a kid. And apart from the obvious worries about, you know, supervillains allying with vampires to possibly take over the world-- or, more realistically, to _attempt_ to take over the world, leaving a lot of destruction and death in their wake before they were stopped with maximum prejudice-- it really was a beautiful day for a walk. Particularly when Steve, without comment, picked up Tony's and Bruce's duffle bags as well as his own and marched off down the worn track toward the house. When he was a kid, Tony used to fantasize about having a pony to ride along this track-- not that he knew how to ride a pony, or had any experience with pets aside from the ones small enough to live in cages or tanks in his room at school, where they couldn't get in Howard's way or annoy him. He'd never asked for a pony-- if Howard didn't actually say "no," Tony could still pretend it was possible. 

All of which, he reminded himself, was absolutely neither here nor there. As they approached the house, Tony sent a quick text to Natasha to let her give Annie-- and therefore Loki-- some advance warning. Just under ten minutes later, they were walking up to the front door. 

"Honey, I'm home!" Tony yelled as the three stepped into the entry hall and Steve dropped their things. In response, Annie appeared-- literally _appeared,_ like from out of thin air-- in front of them and threw her arms around Tony. Annie was affectionate with her friends, but not normally in the habit of tackle-hugging the Avengers. She was also usually a lot more careful about showing her powers when there was an ordinary human in the house. She must be pretty freaked out by everything, then.

"I'm so glad to see you all," she exclaimed, holding Tony's hand in her cold one and talking almost too fast to understand, the way she did when she was worked up. 

"Sounds like you had a rough night out here," Steve sympathized. Annie nodded vigorously, then blushed when Steve added, "But it also sounds like you handled it all really well."

Annie made a brushing-away gesture, and Tony asked the question he'd been afraid to, earlier:

"When the commotion happened last night-- Doom and the vampire would have had to get past my security guards. Does anyone know what happened to them?" 

"Doom put some kind of spell on them," Annie explained quickly, "but they weren't hurt and Loki managed to lift it-- the spell-- a little while ago. He and Nina, that's George's friend, she's a nurse, looked after them and then we sent them home. They didn't remember anything about last night, so we thought we'd better just get them out of the way."

"Good idea," Steve said, with an approving smile. Annie smiled back. 

"Come on, you can meet everyone," she said, leading the way toward the television room at the back of the house, in what Tony finally realized was a planned-out maneuver. He would have expected Natasha to meet and brief them, while Annie hung back with Loki. Instead, it made sense that Annie be the one to lead the Avengers to Loki, to demonstrate that she trusted them. 

Steve had mentioned Annie doing something similar, the time Steve had been hit with a spell that made him afraid of his friends and colleagues in the Avengers. The housemates had been trying to convince Steve that he could trust Thor, and part of their technique had involved Annie voluntarily approaching Thor to demonstrate that she wasn't afraid of him. That the gambit had worked was probably mostly because Steve was Steve, but certainly Annie being Annie had also played a part. 

Natasha, who was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, raised a hand in greeting when the Avengers walked in. Tony's response, for one, was probably a bit distracted. It wasn't that he wasn't glad to see her, it was just--

Jesus, Loki. No wonder Thor was shook up. 

Seated at the far end of the far couch in a pose of exaggerated (and quite probably fake) relaxation, Loki was wearing jeans and a dark blue cotton button-down that had to belong to, to _their_ Loki. In fact Tony was pretty sure this was the same shirt _their_ Loki had worn on Ellen's TV show. 

It had looked just fine on the original Loki, but wasn't entirely a success on this one. The colour of the shirt managed to both wash out his greyish complexion and accent the heavy shadows in the hollows under his eyes and cheekbones. The blue shirt was cut for someone tall and thin in the first place-- it wasn't like their Loki was a bruiser-- but even so it hung off this one's scrawny shoulders. Come to think of it, the jeans he was wearing looked a whole lot looser than intended as well.

He looked like hell, frankly, ashen skin stretched tight over the prominent bones of his face and grayish-green eyes half again as large as they should look. The most upsetting thing about it all was, he was still obviously _Loki--_ he looked like someone had Photoshopped their Loki, adding years to his age, subtracting a whole lot of weight he couldn't afford to lose, and carving lines of pain, exhaustion, and anger into his face. It was a bit like looking at pictures of, say, a young RAF pilot before and after the Battle of Britain.

It was also a very uncomfortable reminder of what might have been for their own Loki, if his time in the void had gone differently. Not something Tony cared to dwell upon, frankly.

And then, of course, he found himself remembering the guy he used to see in the mirror, just before and immediately after his time in Afghanistan--

\-- And that was just about enough of that, thanks, since Tony figured he'd be busy enough in the near future without actively courting flashbacks. 

Tony was conscious of Steve starting forward, glanced over in time to register the solicitous look on the captain's face-- and the way he came to a sudden halt. Tony looked back at Loki, watched the sorcerer draw himself up, wearing an expression that combined arrogance with defensiveness in a way that reminded Tony of nothing quite so much as a cobra spreading its hood. Even if you thought to look for fear in his expression you were unlikely to spot it, but-- just like the cobra-- Tony was pretty sure it was there all the same. 

It was pretty hard not to think of his first encounter with their Loki-- no, not the first one, come to think of it. Tony-- or rather, Iron Man's-- _first_ encounter with the Loki they all knew had occurred outside the school where Loki worked. Loki had actually tried pretty hard to be reasonable but Tony had, unfortunately, been operating with bad-- well, outdated-- intelligence. As a result he'd had a mistaken impression of the threat level represented by Thor's brother, and when Loki turned to walk back into a school full of little kids he'd panicked and over-reacted. 

Their _second_ encounter happened after Tony had flattened Loki with his repulsors, when Loki woke up in restraints. There had been a little of the scared, angry cobra in his expression then-- at least until Thor showed up and reassured him. Which, from what Thor had told them, seemed unlikely to happen this time. 

Loki rose from his seat, shoulders square and chin lifted a little, and Steve took an unobtrusive step backward. It wasn't that Cap was intimidated by the exhausted-looking sorcerer-- rather, it was pretty obvious his concern was all the other way. It wasn't clear Loki recognized Steve's intentions, but he clearly resented them anyway. 

Tony opted for good sense, for once, and let Steve lead:

"Hi Loki, I'm Steve Rogers, one of the-- "

"I know who you are," Loki replied flatly. Annie crossed the room to stand beside him. Her all-friends-here gesture fell rather flat, since Loki immediately angled his body to put himself between Annie and the Avengers, as if he was afraid they might attack her. Tony probably should have been offended, and certainly Annie looked nonplussed, but at least half the gesture was so unambiguously _Loki_ that Tony found himself kind of reassured by it. 

"I don't think any of you have met Nina," George spoke up suddenly, from another corner of the room. "Nina Pickering-- Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Bruce Banner."

"Pleasure," said the tiny fluffy-haired young woman next to him, her tone no more welcoming than Loki's. Her quick, protective glance at George suggested a lack of enthusiasm for superheroics, at least as they related to George. 

"It's very nice to meet you," Steve greeted her gravely, and after a few seconds Nina smiled at him. Which at least let Tony know _they_ hadn't been sucked into some weird parallel universe. 

Really, it might have been smarter for Tony to let Steve do all the talking-- and maybe Bruce, who was good with people as long as _he_ wasn't green and _they_ weren't trying to perform experiments on him-- but Tony spoke up anyway:

"Annie tells me that you and Loki looked after my security guards after Doom zapped them. Thank you-- I underestimated the danger they'd be in, and it would have been pretty awful if they'd been killed or something because of my mistake." 

"It was more Loki than me," Nina replied. "He was the one who lifted the spell." 

"Thank you," Tony repeated, directly to Loki this time, and ignored the faint sneer he got in response. It was of course possible the sneer was genuine, but it felt unproductive to assume as much. Tony had spent years expecting the worst of people, but-- except for Obie, who ironically had been the one person Tony _had_ expectations of-- he'd generally been mistaken, and these days he tried to remember that. 

While, of course, keeping his guard up, because he wasn't _stupid._

When Loki didn't respond, the Avengers didn't press him. Instead, Steve changed the subject. 

"Okay. We know that, as of this past winter, Dr. Doom had a place here in Scotland. Of course he might have gone back to Latveria by now-- "

"How likely is that?" Bruce asked, breaking his silence for the first time and obviously ignoring Loki's expression of defensive hostility, which seemed a little more pronounced now. "I mean," Bruce went on, "Latveria's one of those landlocked little countries right in the middle of Europe, isn't it? That would be quite a haul, going back and forth between here and there every time he wants to cause trouble." 

"Depending on whether he was traveling by magic," Tony pointed out. 

"Do we have any way of finding out?" Steve asked. Tony very carefully didn't look at Loki. He wasn't the only one carefully not looking at Loki. 

Which might have been part of the reason Loki abruptly got to his feet and walked out of the room. 

"Damn," Tony muttered. 

~oOo~

Strangely, even with the dwelling's owner present-- even knowing who that owner was-- the bedchamber still felt like a sanctuary. Loki closed the door, first remembering to ensure he had not shut the little cats into the room with him. He then crossed to where _Men At Arms_ lay on the floor and picked up the book. He smoothed a few crumpled pages, then returned to his-- to _the--_ comfortable chair and found his place in the story.

After a moment, he looked up to where the voice came from the walls, and asked it for music. And then he stared at the printed page as the music washed over him and his heart gradually slowed down. 

He must have presented a cozy image by the time Steve Rogers knocked on the door. 

"Hi, Loki? May I come in? I'd like to speak with you for a minute."

"Enter," Loki replied, distantly. The door opened and Rogers sidled through. Loki closed his book and held it in both hands, drawing himself stiffly upright as he did so. "Yes?" 

Rogers made a deprecatory gesture and remained in the doorway. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that nobody here wants to put any pressure on you. We know you've been through a really rough time, and you don't owe us anything, and we're not going to ask you for anything. All right?"

Loki inclined his head, his expression cool and, he hoped, hiding the painful way his heart was thumping once again. Of course they did not trust him. Why would they? 

_And if they did ask for his help, what would his answer be?_

Loki did not know the answer to his own question, but it seemed unlikely to matter, since the question would never be asked. 

"Is that all?" he inquired coolly, and had the small satisfaction of watching the captain wince. 

"Sure," Rogers murmured, and withdrew. 

It was a very small satisfaction, Loki thought, when the door closed behind Rogers and he was left alone. And now he really was alone, of course-- he could hardly go roaming about the house, after all, not with the Avengers in residence. They had given no sign of wishing to harm or restrain him, but he had no desire to display himself to their regard, to their judgment. He was effectively no longer free to move about the house, and the knowledge was wearying. This most recent captivity was a great deal more comfortable than any he had previously endured, but as his strength returned he found himself reaching the end of his patience with captivity. 

Not, of course, that he had any desire to provoke the Avengers into resorting to a more stringent form of restraint. 

The words of the story danced unseen before his eyes, though-- a ruse so long practiced that it had become automatic-- he continued to pretend to track the print and to turn pages at appropriate intervals. He was almost entirely master of himself once again-- as well as any prisoner could call himself _master_ of anything, even his own mind-- when the next knock came at the door. 

"Loki?" Annie called. "Can we come in for a minute? We need to talk to you." 

Puzzled, but not entirely displeased, Loki set down _Men At Arms_ and walked over to open the door. Annie, George, and Nina immediately slipped inside, followed by the dog and the two little cats. George closed the door behind them, and-- not much to Loki's surprise-- the visitors went over to sit on the bed. 

"Yes?" Loki prompted, looking at the three anxious faces. Prompted by some ridiculous urge, he moved his-- _the--_ comfortable chair so as to face the others, then sat down and waited for their explanation. One of the little cats, the mostly-black one, took this as an invitation to insinuate herself into his lap, and he chose to permit this.

Annie spoke, words tumbling over each other:

"Loki, we need your help. The Avengers don't want to ask you, and we all understand why-- you don't really have any reason to care about them, or this, this realm, and you've certainly been through enough. Only-- Tony's going to try and track down Dr. Doom, but as good as his technology is, this really is a job for magic. And it sounds like they've lost touch with Dr. Strange, who I think is the only other sorcerer besides our Loki who routinely works with SHIELD."

"Perhaps your friends the witches would be willing to assist," Loki suggested dryly. "They have been remarkably accommodating so far."

And then he was sorry, when both Annie and George winced and fell silent. Nina, however, glanced at the others in confusion and then took up the thread.

"You know what Doom's magic feels like," she pointed out. "That's why you could remove it from the security guards. Annie and George think that makes you the best person to find his hideout." The mortal's round little face was solemn as she added, "I know this is a lot to ask, and you don't owe Earth anything-- " Loki kept his expression neutral and did not look directly at Annie or George as Nina went on, "-- but we could really use your help."

Loki inclined his head as he pretended to consider the request. It might have been the purest manipulation, to refrain from mentioning the very real debt Loki owed not only to a realm he had _tried to conquer--_ granted, not in this reality, but the point remained-- but also, and more personally, to Annie and George. 

_Might_ have been, but the damnable thing was, the pair were transparently honest, and he could sense no desire in them to use their prior kindness to their own advantage. And Nina, whatever her tendencies would have been, quite obviously did not know how desperate Loki's straits had been when he arrived in the little household. 

It briefly crossed his mind to wonder whether anything would have been different if the royal family of Asgard had made less of a meal of his _obligations_ ("we are your parents") and his _place_ in their efforts to regain control of him. If the crown prince's requests for help had felt less like demands for that to which he was entitled.

"You ask my assistance?" he asked, just to make sure everything was clear between them. 

"Yes," George said quickly, and Annie added, "Please." 

The word nearly soured everything-- for a moment he had a nightmare flash of the Other gazing down at a broken prisoner who _was not Loki--_ but he retained control over himself. 

"Very well," he replied. "You have it." 

~oOo~

The Doombots had had to be disassembled when Doom moved to his new accommodations. Work on them occupied his attention so completely he quite forgot about his worthless supposed _allies._ Well, not _forgot,_ exactly. He fully intended to have words with Wyndham, about controlling both his servant and his own predatory impulses. Becoming ruler of a people did not mean they were cattle for consumption. Evidently, that needed to be made clear to the vampires, when Doom had time to address the problem. 

He was rather taken by surprise, therefore, when Wyndham himself walked uninvited into his laboratory.

"I would speak to you," the vampire announced, without preamble. Doom turned toward him, movements measured and bearing still. A human-- even one of the accursed Avengers-- would have taken warning from his posture. Wyndham, for his part, merely inclined his head and narrowed his eyes. "Our... partnership... has not been a particularly fruitful one thus far." The creature's voice rose as he went on, "We vampires are not your lackeys, to be baulked of our rightful prey because of a spasm of _sentimentality_ on your part-- "

"Those I would rule are not merely your prey-- " Doom began, in an awful tone.

Wyndham _laughed_ at him. "Those _you_ would rule? A certain number of the humans will be left to serve you, it is true, but for the majority, a select number will be recruited and the rest serve as fodder for their betters. Do not pretend to have been ignorant of our intentions-- you know what we are, and what to expect. The lion may lie down with the lamb, but only one of them is likely to get up again." A sneer lifting the corner of his mouth, Wyndham added, "And what rewards will your sorcerer expect, once he is brought to heel?"

"What he _expects_ will be the least of my concerns," Doom replied, magisterially. _As will be your wishes._

Wyndham uttered a sharp bark of laughter. "Perhaps it should be given a little more thought."

The vampire walked out of the laboratory, closing the door quietly behind him, and leaving Doom deep in thought.

~oOo~

The Midgardian saying concerning the non-boiling properties of a watched pot was equally applicable to a watched electric kettle, but eventually Loki was able to brew himself a mug of acceptably strong, sweet tea. He carried it into the lounge and sat down on the sofa, then turned to Clint, seated in the comfortable chair Thor always occupied when he visited.

"I really am terribly sorry about... all that," he said, gesturing vaguely upward. 

"What, you mean trying to brain me with-- what was that, anyway? A paddle?" Clint replied. 

"A cricket bat," Loki murmured into his mug. 

"Of course it was," Clint said. "Seriously, what the hell was that all about?"

Loki squirmed. "I... I do not remember. No, really, I do not remember very much about-- " he frowned. "How long was I... away?"

Clint looked startled. "You mean you don't know?"

"That is what I said," Loki scowled. 

"Two days. And you don't remember much about it?" Clint demanded. 

"My magic was bound," Loki began, and then broke off to drink deeply of his tea. 

"So you were, like, mostly out of your mind," Clint said bluntly, apparently remembering their conversation in the aircraft. Loki shrugged. Clint's eyes narrowed. "So did some alternate-universe Clint Barton have anything to do with it?" Loki wriggled uncomfortably. "That's a yes, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Loki agreed. "I... when I saw you, I was suddenly angry and afraid, and I thought, I thought the other Agent Barton had followed me and... and..." 

Clint sighed. "Look, man, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. What do you say we order a pizza and try to fill in a few blanks here?"

Suddenly aware of exactly how empty his stomach was, Loki nodded. "Would you care for a cup of tea while we wait?" he offered.

Clint grinned. "Thanks, man, but the only drink that has magical properties for my people is beer."

Loki smiled tentatively back. "I believe we have some in the refrigerator."

"Good. Now, what's a good place to call?"

Loki had time for another cup of tea before the pizza arrived, and then the two sat in the lounge to eat it and drink beer. To Loki's relief, Clint did not press him for any more recollections. In fact, for the moment, the archer seemed far more interested in unburdening himself concerning his time at the school.

"I mean, it could have been worse of course-- nobody was trying to kill me or anything-- but I did get sick of their judgey little faces. You could just _hear_ them thinking, 'Loki would do that better' and 'Loki would know that' and 'when's Loki coming back?' Little monsters."

Loki paused in the act of lifting another slice of pizza from the box. "I hardly think such behaviour counts as 'monstrous,'" he rebuked the archer. Carefully detaching a stretchy string of cheese from his slice, he added thoughtfully, "And should they have wished, I am quite sure something far more definitive could have been arranged for you."

Clint shuddered. "Yeah, no kidding. I tell you, it was like a couple of missions I've been on in the jungle-- the same feeling of being _watched,_ and knowing there was something carnivorous hiding behind every frigging bush, waiting for me to drop my guard." 

"It must have been terrifying," Loki commiserated, through a mouthful of pepperoni and crust. Hastily chewing and swallowing, he then asked, "What I do not fully understand is, _why_ were you at my school? I am sure Carol was pleased to have your assistance-- "

"Oh, she was pretty anxious for you to come back, too," Clint grumped, then reluctantly admitted, "although she was perfectly nice to me."

"-- But SHIELD has never replaced me when I missed time on their business before this. And sending an agent of your rank to fill the role of a school caretaker seems excessive." He realized he was ripping bits from the crust of his slice of pizza, and forced his hands to be still. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Clint said quickly. "But we got worried that it might. For one thing-- did anyone explain to you that Dr. Doom was behind you and the other Loki trading places?" Loki shook his head. "Well, he was. And, according to one of Mitchell's old vampire pals, he's working with a gang of vampire overlords, or something like that. They're apparently trying to take over the world, and Mitchell's contact figures they want to kidnap the other Loki and try to force him to work for them." 

"Would he need to be forced?" Loki asked, picking at the label on his beer bottle and somehow finding himself with little appetite. 

"Annie seems to think so," Clint said mildly. "Anyway, they showed up here the other night, probably planning to grab Loki-- don't worry, the rhino charm kicked their asses. Annie, George, Loki and George's girlfriend went up to Scotland for safety's sake and SHIELD thought there should be someone on the school, too. Just in case the vampires do anything stupid."

"Thank you," Loki said. "And-- has there been any evidence of vampire activity?"

Clint squirmed a little. "Well, yes, but not the way I expected." Loki lifted an interrogative eyebrow, and a moment later Clint was unburdening himself regarding his adventures with Daisy, Geoff, and the inanimate Ivan.

When he finished, Loki-- who had in the meantime finished his first beer and started another-- asked, 

"And what do you intend to do next?" When Clint remained silent, Loki prompted him: "You told them you intended to learn about magic. Did you have a plan?"

Clint drained his beer and detached another slice of pizza. One did not have to be the so-called God of Mischief to know he was stalling. 

"Clint?" Loki insisted, although he was beginning to sense where this conversation was going. 

"Look, man, I really am sorry," Clint blurted, and confirmed Loki's growing suspicions, "I wouldn't ask this of you if I could think of another-- the thing is, I don't have a plan, except maybe to try and get hold of Strange and ask him-- I mean, I'm pretty sure he's tangled with Doom before now."

"Do you know what his feelings are concerning vampires?" Loki got to the heart of the matter. Because if Strange felt compelled to _do something_ about the Bristol vampires... well, Mitchell was not really part of their community any longer, but Loki knew his friend did not want anything terrible to befall them. 

And besides... this was _his_ city, not Strange's. 

And therefore _his_ responsibility, and not Strange's. 

For a moment, Loki indulged himself in the wish-- the _longing--_ to go to Scotland with Annie, George, and Nina. And then--

"I think," he said, as calmly as he could, "it would be best if I remained here and assisted you."

"That would be awesome," Clint replied, with every appearance of gratitude. Awkwardly, he added, "Here, you can have the last piece of pizza."

Manners suggested Loki should demur and offer the slice to Clint in return. 

"Thank you," he said instead, and helped himself to the pizza.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Just a reminder that in Housemates-universe, Loki's attack on Jotunheim was an impulsive act. I know a lot of fans believe the opposite, that he had the whole crazy plan in mind from the very beginning, and the actions of Heimdall and Thor's friends are all that saved Jotunheim. Which is obviously legitimate, but I think his plans were so ramshackle that it's equally likely he was making it all up as he went along, escalating with each perceived betrayal, so that's the way it happened in these universes. More or less. 
> 
> The Extravengers don't know Dr. Strange. Also, I haven't read the comic that formed the prelude to **The Dark World** , and am therefore ignoring it.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Heroes can be arseholes. And other-Thor expresses an attitude in line with something about MCU canon that bothers me a  lot (and would have influenced A!Loki's actions toward Jotunheim.) To this day I can't quite believe, given the conclusion of **Thor** , that anyone thought that bit made sense.

Tony's offer to put the Extravengers up in a hotel was extremely-- and typically-- generous, but Coulson decided the wisest move was to take them to one of SHIELD's safe houses, where they'd be properly monitored. The last thing he wanted was for a whole team of spare Avengers to be wandering around unsupervised, let alone a team whose behaviour he couldn't predict. Not that he thought they had actual bad intentions, it was just that they seemed to kind of be assholes. 

Not that his own team wasn't capable of acting like assholes, too. It was just that...

It was just that, on his team, everyone knew Steve and Tony took the lead, not the SHIELD operatives. Which was important because the SHIELD agents were by their very nature a little more willing to push ethical boundaries for the sake of expedience. 

A little less so, of course, since last year's revelation that the agency had been infiltrated by agents of Hydra and their evil shapeshifting allies and _most of its personnel hadn't even noticed._ The aftermath of that whole mess, once Fury was returned to command, had included a shakeup at the top and a great many workshops run by experts on ethics, and representatives of Amnesty International, and so on. These were the kind of presenters you'd think would make Fury's head explode, so the fact he was responsible for their presence kind of underlined the importance of the whole thing. 

The purpose of all this training had been pretty simple: to increase the likelihood that, if something like the Dire Wraith situation ever happened again, _someone_ in the agency would stop and ask themselves, "If we are supposed to be the Good Guys, why exactly are we behaving like Bad Guys?"

Who watches the Watch, as Terry Pratchett would put it. 

SHIELD's original slide into villainy had, of course, gone unnoticed at least partly because of an atmosphere of "the end justifies the means" that certainly wasn't unique among intelligence agencies. Under ordinary circumstances that attitude wouldn't pose much threat to the average Londoner in the street, but Coulson considered it smartest to just avoid any potential trouble, at least as long as this version of Fury was in charge of the team and Stark and Rogers continued simply following his lead. 

There was, of course, the distinct possibility that Coulson was being unfair just because he didn't like them, but as far as he was concerned, turnabout was fair play. And besides, at least he wasn't expressing his dislike in ways that ended in anybody covered in his own blood and hallucinating.

"You guys can stay here until Dr. Strange arranges to send you home," he announced, after he'd followed everyone into the foyer and closed the door behind them. "I'll keep working on getting in touch with him."

The other Thor looked mutinous. "I will not be leaving this realm without my brother."

 _Yeah, when Valkyries ride flying pigs,_ Coulson did not say out loud. He was actually kind of counting on his team's Thor to say it for him. 

Real-Thor folded his massive arms, but now his expression was sad and curious rather than angry. 

"Has it always been so, between you and your brother?" he asked. When other-Thor looked puzzled, real-Thor went on, "What happened between you? What-- " and here Coulson could actually see him force the words out-- "did he do, to so lose your friendship?"

Mitchell turned toward Thor with a startled look, but he didn't offer to speak, and Coulson held his tongue as well. If it felt strange for them to hear Thor speaking like this, it must be a whole lot weirder for Thor himself to actually _do_ it. In this reality, both Odinson brothers-- and, based on observation and reading between the lines, their parents and friends as well-- had a tendency to assign themselves most of the blame for the disasters that had befallen their family. 

There was, of course, plenty of blame to go around, if you chose to look at it that way. Coulson was more inclined to see it in terms of all of them needing help they didn't seem to have access to. That was nothing unusual-- Earth itself was full of people who could use some help. Not all of them got it, and quite a lot of those people muddled along quite functionally all the same. Thor himself wasn't exactly what you'd call "fine," but for the most part he coped. Lots of people managed.

And some people were like Loki. Coulson had no opinion about extra-Loki just yet, but the Loki he knew hadn't been able to stand up under the pressures of being who he was, in the situation he was in. As the situation became more extreme-- and if there was one thing Asgard did well, it was "extreme"-- he'd crumbled from the inside out, eventually violently externalizing his distress.

In the human world, Loki probably would have wound up in a secure facility-- or dead-- but that didn't mean he was actually evil, and clearly he hadn't been beyond help, even if the help he got had taken an unusual form. 

The point was, Coulson was used to Loki blaming himself for what he'd done, which was at least partly fair-- messed up or not it was pretty clear he'd been thinking clearly enough to make plans and respond to the developing situation for quite some time. Thor also blaming himself, at least in part, was to Coulson understandable: the people who loved Loki and hadn't realized he needed help would naturally be hard on themselves in the wake of the explosion. 

Whether it was _fair_ for Thor to assign himself any blame for Loki's actions was kind of a moot point, and everyone who knew the brothers was used to Thor doing so. So hearing real-Thor speak as if whatever had happened was naturally all on Loki just felt strange. 

But it indicated real-Thor had a good read on his doppelganger, because other-Thor nodded, looking so solemn and noble it was a wonder real-Thor was able to resist the impulse to punch him in his smug face. 

"We were for many centuries the closest of companions," other-Thor explained. "But his envy and jealousy led him to betray me on what should have been my day of triumph, my coronation. He arranged for Frost Giants to enter Asgard, where they reached the weapons vault in search of the Casket of Ancient Winters, held by the Allfather since the war." 

"And after your exile by the Allfather, he usurped the throne," real-Thor prompted smoothly. Other-Thor nodded. "And when your friends sought to return you from your exile on Midgard, to take back your rightful place, he tried to stop them."

"Yes!" other-Thor agreed readily. Coulson wondered whether he'd ever talked about this before, to anyone. The expressions on the faces of the Extravengers suggested they were hearing much of the story for the first time. None of them seemed especially concerned about the legality of Loki's reign or Thor's return from exile-- or the immediate reasons for that exile. "But my powers returned to me and I was able to defeat the Destroyer, then Heimdall opened the Bifrost and I went to stop Loki's attack on Jotunheim."

Real-Thor nodded seriously, not questioning how other-Thor had known his brother was planning to attack Jotunheim in the first place. As far as Coulson had been able to gather, real-Thor had returned to Asgard to take back the throne by force, and it seemed possible his return had actually precipitated the attack on Jotunheim, Loki gambling that a final grand gesture would both win their father's approval, and incidentally eliminate the entire species he so badly wanted not to belong to. It was unclear whether he'd have made the attempt if Thor hadn't come back-- not that Coulson had ever mentioned that possibility to real-Thor. It was likely Thor had thought of that himself, anyway. 

"You could not permit a whole race to be wiped out," real-Thor agreed, and that much at least was true, "no matter how monstrous."

"Yes," other-Thor agreed, without blinking at the sentiment. Apparently his lessons in the wake of all this trouble hadn't included "the Jotnar are people, not monsters." Reparations to the Jotnar in his reality didn't seem to include the kind of diplomatic contact that had effected the change in attitude real-Thor and his brother had managed. Good to know.

And then the whole damn sky fell in, as other-Thor went on, "At least, not by any who is not the rightful king of Asgard." 

_The hell?_ Coulson cut a quick glance sideways and was relieved to see an expression of disbelief flash across real-Thor's face. To avoid breaking the connection between Thors, Coulson hastily stepped into the breach to ask the obvious question:

"Has the rightful king of Asgard ever done that? Wiped out an entire people?" 

"Yes," other-Thor replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "When the Dark Elves threatened the Nine Realms, they were destroyed utterly by Bor Allfather, down to the last child. And so Asgard protected the Nine."

 _Holy shit._ So maybe other-Loki _hadn't_ been out of his mind when he'd attempted genocide. Maybe he was just doing what he believed kings of Asgard _did_ when faced with a big enough threat. Clearly, Odin hadn't followed Bor Allfather's lead with regard to the Frost Giants, but Thor's manner suggested the brothers hadn't been taught the extermination of a whole people was fundamentally a bad thing. So, what? It was only wrong because _Loki_ was doing it? 

Fascinating though the question might be, this wasn't exactly the time to debate whether genocide was intrinsically wrong, or okay if the right king was committing it. Also, there was no way the safe house could stand up to a battle between Thors, especially not if Banner (who along with the other Avengers was, luckily, still mostly looking stunned at the moment) got involved.

Accordingly, Coulson got the conversation back on track. He took care to follow real-Thor's strategy of assuming events had followed the same course as in their own reality. 

"After you saved Jotunheim," he addressed other-Thor, "and your brother let himself fall from the Bifrost into the void-- what happened then?"

"We thought him dead," other-Thor explained, not sounding particularly broken up about it. "Until he appeared on Midgard, stole an artifact of great power, and led an army against the realm."

"What army was that?" Coulson asked. 

"They were creatures known as the Chitauri," other-Thor explained. "Insect-like beings of terrible savagery." 

"Huh," Coulson remarked, keeping his tone level, and noting that, whatever other-Thor had learned in his exile on Earth, it apparently hadn't included the message not to keep on depersonalizing his adversaries. To real-Thor, he asked, "Are you familiar with the Chitauri?"

"No, they are not of the Nine Realms. How did your brother come to be allied with them?" No answer from other-Thor. Real-Thor's eyebrows climbed. "You _asked_ him, did you not?"

"We were a little preoccupied with _stopping_ him, actually," Fury spoke up. Coulson was pretty sure Fury had not actually missed the point, which was that real-Thor was specifically interested in what the other Thor had and had not assumed about his brother. However, real-Thor let it go, so Coulson did, too.

"That's not what happened in your reality?" Rogers spoke up suddenly. Which the captain obviously had to know, just based on the way Coulson and the others reacted to real-Loki. Coulson suspected Rogers was just trying to change the subject for a minute-- maybe to help Banner keep a lid on the Hulk .

Which, now that he thought of it, struck Coulson as a laudable goal. 

"It's not," Coulson agreed. "In our reality, Odin threw a couple of protective spells after Loki as he fell, with the result that he arrived on Earth by bouncing off a roof and into the yard behind Mitchell's house. Mitchell and his friends took him in, and he's been here ever since."

"And he hasn't... done anything?" Rogers asked, apparently wanting to get the record completely straight. "I mean, he's... he's not crazy or evil?"

"He's not evil," Coulson replied firmly. "And I don't think he'd currently be classified as mentally ill, although a psychiatrist might consider he'd experienced a psychotic episode just before he fell into the void, and its highly likely he's suffering from problems similar to the ones humans can be prey to, if they experience a series of unaddressed early abandonments and attachment difficulties. To say nothing of the aftereffects of learning as an adult that he's a member of a species he'd been raised to believe were literally monsters."

"Pardon?" Stark managed, cutting a glance at other-Thor. 

"My brother," real-Thor spoke up before the other one could say something else awful, "was born to the king and queen of Jotunheim, at the end of the war between our people. Our father found him as an abandoned infant, and Loki being a shapeshifter took on the form of his rescuer. His discovery of his true birth was one of the matters that precipitated what you would call a breakdown." Colour rising in his cheeks, Thor added stoutly, "The Jotnar are not monstrous. That is a falsehood, and should never have been taught us."

"So, you know, he's got issues," Coulson went calmly on. "But he's been... functional, shall we say, in the time he's spent on Earth. Helpful to the Avengers, especially since he and Thor resolved their differences-- "

 _"Differences?"_ Stark echoed. "You mean the kind of differences that end up with Loki dropping a glass cell out of the helicarrier, with Thor in it?" 

Coulson was pretty glad real-Loki wasn't on hand to hear that. And then he was even happier about it when Rogers said acidly, 

"Or in Thor picking Loki up by the throat and throwing him out of an airborne jet-- which as I recall happened _first."_ He turned a look of disbelief on other-Thor. "The last time you saw your brother he was _falling into space,_ and you figured it was a good idea to _throw him out of an airplane?"_

Other-Thor looked irritated more than anything, but Coulson decided not to risk getting side-tracked. 

"Yeah, our Thor and Loki haven't done anything like that to each other."

"But your Loki did sic the giant robot on his brother, right?" Barton spoke up. "And tore up that town in New Mexico?"

"Yes," Coulson agreed, since there was no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not saying our Loki hasn't done some inexcusable things."

"But you did," Barton insisted. "Excuse them. I mean, he's not in prison is he?"

"I said 'inexcusable,' not 'unforgivable,'" Coulson pointed out. "Practically everybody on our team has done inexcusable things. Doesn't mean they can't at least try to make amends."

"Even Loki," Banner said. His words might have sounded like a challenge, but his tone didn't. 

"Even Loki," Coulson agreed. 

~oOo~ 

After disposing of the pizza box and washing his hands, Loki ran upstairs to check his mobile. It had charged sufficiently to display his messages, which included two texts from Carol ("hope you're feeling better!") and, to his pleasure (and relief) one from George's mobile, signed by Annie, asking him to ring as soon as he could. The message had been sent less than half an hour ago.

Loki sat down on the edge of his bed, read the message over twice, and then called up George's mobile number. A moment later it was ringing through, and almost immediately he heard George's voice was saying, "Loki? Is that you?"

Loki reminded himself that he did not want Clint to walk in on him crying. He steadied himself with the deepest breath he could draw, and spoke almost normally:

"It is. I have just arrived at home."

"Are you all right? We were told you weren't well and you'd gone back to Asgard-- "

"I am quite recovered. George, how are you? And Nina, and... and Annie?"

When he replied, it was clear from his voice that George was smiling-- he knew perfectly well who Loki had wanted to ask after first. "We're all fine, really. Tony and the others arrived a little while ago and we're all working on tracking down Dr. Doom." 

"Is, is the... is he helping you?" Loki could not seem to bring himself to mention the other Loki's name. 

"He is," George replied, reassuringly. 

"Be careful," Loki heard himself urge. There was a splutter on the other end of the line, and--reluctantly-- Loki chuckled, too. "Yes, I know, it is very amusing for _me_ to be warning _you_ to be careful." 

"Just a little bit," George said kindly. "Try not to worry too much. He isn't going to hurt us."

"He may be a very talented liar," Loki murmured, hot and cold waves chasing themselves up and down his body. 

"He probably is, but we've learned from the best, so we recognize some of his tells. And Catherine… well. Catherine found a way to restrain him a little, without really hurting him." Loki, contrary as he was, found himself paradoxically both relieved and upset by that intelligence, but before he could ask any questions, George went on, "Are you coming to join us?"

"I wish I could," Loki replied miserably. "However, Clint-- Clint is here, did you know that?-- he tells me the vampires are involved with Dr. Doom, and he has asked for my assistance in dealing with the problem. There is someone named Ivan who he believes may be helpful, assuming I can lift the enchantment he is under."

He could, of course, slip through Yggdrasil and pay a short visit to Scotland. The trouble was, in his current frame of mind he did not entirely trust himself to come back, and Clint-- to say nothing of Bristol-- needed him.

George whistled. "I forgot about Ivan, and I suppose Mitchell did, too. The last we heard, Ivan had disappeared, and Mitchell was worried that without him around the other vampires would join up with Doom's side. Ivan seems to have stepped in as leader since Herrick died, only he doesn't have the same ambitions." 

"Clint expressed the same concern. I will see what I can do," Loki promised. He hesitated. Annie could not make herself heard through a telephone, and he had never thought to work out a magical solution to the problem. He cursed his laxity now. She could, however, hear him. "Is… is Annie with you?" 

"Yes," George said, "she's right here. I'll give her the phone." A moment later, from a distance, he could hear George saying, "Go ahead." 

"Annie? I, um, I am sorry not to be there with you. Please be careful." He tried to think of something else to say and could not. Feeling rather silly, he simply murmured, "I love you," and then disconnected the call. 

A moment later, his mobile uttered the quiet sound that signaled he had received a text message. He looked, and found, from George's number: _< 3_

"Loki?" Clint asked from the doorway. "Are you ready to go meet the vampires?"

"Certainly," Loki replied, completing a return message and then rising to his feet, pocketing his mobile as he did. "Let us do that."

~oOo~

Annie handed George back his mobile, blinked a couple of times, and then made her voice as firm as possible as she said, "Let's go see what Loki's up to, yeah?"

They left the study in the entry hall, where George had run when he saw who was calling them, and headed for the stairs. Nina was just coming down.

"Do you know where I could find a crystal goblet and a candle?" she asked.

"There have to be some around here. Tony must have wineglasses," George said. "I'll ask him."

"Or we could just look for ourselves," Annie remarked, reflecting on how little attention Tony seemed to pay to where everyday things were stored. 

"He-- Loki-- did say he'd try a regular water glass, as long as it was clear. The plastic tumbler in the bathroom isn't going to work," Nina explained. "He says he needs to be able to see the flame of the candle through the glass."

"There's a sideboard in the dining room, that's the likeliest place to find wineglasses," Annie said. "I'll check the kitchen and the pantry for candles and matches."

When she ran into the kitchen, Annie encountered Bruce, who had a lot of sandwich fixings laid out on the big table and was putting them together. 

"Where are the others?" she asked. 

"In Tony's security room," Bruce explained. "It's not really my area of expertise, so I figured I'd bring up lunch."

Annie had forgotten about the security room-- last time they were here, for the holidays, it hadn't been mentioned. The big stone house had two wings, with two separate sections of attics. One side had been converted to the comfortable guest rooms now occupied by Annie and her friends. The other had served as staff quarters, in the days of second housemaids, and now was mostly storage space. 

_Mostly._ Annie had forgotten about the security room, the one George and Coulson had occupied last August, during the Hydra threat, to monitor communications channels before the battle. 

"Want me to make some up for you?" Bruce offered, referring to the sandwiches. 

"That would be lovely, thank you," Annie agreed, and guiltily tried to remember whether anyone had thought to give Loki breakfast today. She had to keep in mind that he wouldn't help himself, or probably ask. 

"Here, you take these," Bruce said, neatly piling his made-up sandwiches-- cheese and tomato and cold cuts, she thought-- onto a plate and starting over. 

"Thanks," Annie smiled, and ducked into the pantry off the kitchen to begin her search. She quickly found what she needed, tucked them into a pocket of her cardigan, and went back to fetch the sandwiches. 

"What have you got there?" Bruce asked, looking curiously at her pocket. It occurred to Annie that he was probably partly interested in how mortal objects could be carried in ghostly pockets. Since she didn't understand herself how that worked, Annie just explained, 

"Loki is going to try scrying for Dr. Doom, and he needs a candle and a wineglass full of water to focus on." At Bruce's expression of wistful interest, she added apologetically, "I'd invite you to come see how it's done, but I don't think-- "

"No, I don't suppose my presence would help him concentrate," Bruce agreed. "Do you know if he's had a run-in with the Hulk specifically, or is it just that I'm one of the Avengers?"

"I'm not sure," Annie admitted, wincing. "He was terribly banged up when he landed at our place, though, and some of the injuries were fresh. I don't think anyone except you-- I mean the Hulk, the other Hulk-- or Thor could have done that much damage to him."

"Great," Bruce sighed. "I'll do my best to stay out of his way, then." 

"I have a feeling he'll do the same," Annie said. "Although... he's getting a little better, I think. Anyway, I should take these to him." Picking up the plate, she hurried out of the kitchen, and met George and Nina in the hall. "All set?"

"Yes," George replied, holding up two wineglasses and indicating two more in Nina's hands. They were of a variety of shapes and sizes, one of which would surely answer Loki's need. 

The trio climbed the stairs and went down the hall to Loki's room, from which they could hear music playing. He was listening to _Darkness On the Edge of Town_ again. Given the tone of that record, Annie wasn't sure whether it was a good sign or not. 

Nina knocked on the half-open door. Annie approved: the fact the door was ajar was probably deliberate, but Loki would probably appreciate their respecting his space.

"Enter," Loki called. They did so, Annie setting the sandwiches down on the chest of drawers while George and Nina presented the wineglasses for Loki's approval. After seeing what Annie had found in the way of candles, he chose a glass and they used the other three, and the bathroom tumbler, for water to accompany their sandwiches. Annie was guiltily aware of Loki trying not to wolf, although it was hard to be sure whether he was really hungry or simply still accustomed to devouring anything he was offered in case it was taken away again. Neither option was particularly comforting. 

Their meal completed, Loki moved the bedside table to a position in front of the reading chair, then took the chosen goblet to the bathroom to fill it with water. He placed it on the table, lit the candle and stood it behind the goblet. 

"JARVIS, you may lower the music," Loki ordered, and seated himself. He glanced around at his audience. "You may stay if you wish-- " this being the closest he could probably come to an actual invitation, or even a request that they do so-- "but it is necessary that you remain quiet, so that I may concentrate."

"Sure," Annie agreed, deciding not to ask why Bruce Springsteen apparently didn't impair his concentration. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the bed, and Nina joined her, the kittens climbing into her lap as she did. George, at a request from Loki that just avoided being a command, flicked off the overhead light. At this time of day the room received little direct sunlight, so the candle flame was emphasized. 

Loki leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs and, now at the right angle to see the flame directly through the glass of water, he fixed his gaze upon it and was silent. George tiptoed across the room to sit with the others. 

~oOo~

_"I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396_  
 _Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor_  
 _She's waiting tonight down in the parking lot_  
 _Outside the Seven-Eleven store"_

It was, Loki reflected vaguely, rather strange how the songs of Midgard could be completely incomprehensible in one sense-- he frequently found himself, as now, unable to understand the majority of the singer's words-- while at the same time engendering a feeling of profound _understanding._ It made him feel both comforted and deeply uneasy. 

Left to his own devices, and assuming he somehow escaped from the void on his own, he would never have given Midgard a second thought. Yes, he had made threats against the mortal woman who had so captured Thor's fancy, but they had been calculated to provoke Thor, not from any intention of actually carrying them out. Even if he had genuinely wanted to harm her, she must by now be dead a century or more. 

Absent the controlling voice in his head, Loki would never have come to Midgard, would never have considered it. The realm, and the little creatures who lived on it, held no interest for him. Absent the chains in his mind that bound him to another's will-- as, he supposed, he was bound now, albeit in ways and for reasons that were not calculated to harm or humiliate-- Midgard would never have entered his thoughts. 

But Midgard had been where the Tesseract was to be found. His role-- his and that of the Chitauri dupes-- was to act as bait, to draw the guardians of the realm to himself while the Tesseract, having let through the decoy force, next permitted passage for whoever was to actually steal it, leaving Loki and the Chitauri soldiers behind. 

He had known that, of course, in the part of him that remained to himself. But those things about him that had use-- his anger, his calculation, his wish to _show them_ \-- had all been under strict control. He had been powerless to do more than obey, create plans for the benefit of his masters and execute them. 

Left to his own devices he would never have bothered to attack Midgard, to destroy its cities or the little beings who lived there. That did not mean he felt much regret for having done so. He was not much inclined toward interest in or concern for such creatures, and besides, his centuries in the bosom of the Other had largely extinguished any tendency to think of the sorrows or pain of others. He had, by the time he came through the portal, sorrows and pain enough of his own to occupy his mind.

It was not, he thought now, that his attitude had substantially changed. He was not Thor, to swear allegiance and protection in the wake of a little kindly treatment. 

But. 

There was more to these little beings than he might have believed, had he ever bothered to think about them. He had already learned first-hand they were not after all so feeble as to need the protection of Asgard because they lacked the sense or the strength to protect themselves. He was unlikely ever to forget that.

Their kindness ran deeper, too, than he had realized. Thor's treatment, when he was exiled to the realm, had not surprised him-- of course Thor would always find someone to welcome him. The fact he, himself, had been offered assistance-- even having nothing to trade or bargain with, no more had the Loki who preceded him-- was still surprising. 

And here he was, with leisure to listen to the songs the mortals sang, and to find in them not the _glorious sagas_ of Asgard, but doubt and fear and anger and hope. They were profoundly disturbing even as they comforted him. 

The rough, lonely voice at the edge of his senses soothed the turmoil that still had power to impede his concentration. He focused on the candle flame through the water, made his breathing even and his heartbeat slow, and made himself remembered the feeling of Doom's magic. 

Soon there was nothing in the room but himself, and the candle, and the sensation of magic. 

He felt himself grow light, as though his body had disappeared, as though he was himself formless magic. He floated in his own mind, in space.

A long way away he was conscious of the candle flame, but it was below him, behind him, he was floating, and now he found a thread of the magic he sought. He followed it, holding it delicately, careful not to apply too much pressure and make it break. 

_Darkness._ Not of the void, but of a room, rough stone, windowless. 

_Lamplight._ Shadows cast on the walls. 

_A caped, hooded figure._ His heart jerked and he nearly gasped aloud as he followed the thread to its source, to this figure. His hands clenched of their own volition--

\-- and then he made himself calm, concentrated, and merely watched, as though over the caped figure's shoulder, as he looked into a mirror. No, a series of mirrors, creating the illusion of ranks and ranks of the same being, stretching away into the darkness, as if--

Realization struck Loki, and he shook his head violently, breaking his grip on the magical thread and surfacing, as if from cold water. He lurched to his feet, returning himself to full consciousness.

"What is it?" Annie asked, as George got up to switch on the lights again. It took Loki a moment to regain command of himself, to brush away the feeling of floating in the stream of magic. 

"Soldiers," he said simply. The others gaped at him, and he forced himself to continue: "He has... it looked like an army, of creatures that resembled himself." He hesitated, looking at the three frightened faces, and made himself go on: "We must tell the others. The Avengers. They must know."

"Right," Annie agreed, blew out the candle, and led them from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** There were a bunch of things that made me dislike **The Dark World** and the Asgard depicted in it, and most of them had nothing much to do with Loki's fate. Seriously, the whole business of Bor's actions against the Dark Elves, and how they were perceived by modern Asgard, struck me as astonishingly wrong-headed on the part of the writers. Odin's initial voiceover suggested Malekith had somehow used his people as elfin-shields against the soldiers of Asgard, but I later got the impression he had "sacrificed" his people by withdrawing, and so abandoning them to the murderous Aesir. It doesn't make sense to believe Thor didn’t know about his grandfather's actions, and Odin certainly gave no sign of thinking there was anything wrong with them. This simultaneously explained why Odin apparently never corrected Thor's childish threats to wipe out the Jotnar, and also where Loki got the idea that genocide was an acceptable action. I mean, what the hell, heroes? And apparently Marvel had no problem with this element of the script?  Really?


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** No, we're not going to bring in the new character referenced in this chapter, much as we spoke of but did not meet Dr. Doom in a number of earlier stories. We've already got plenty of stuff to deal with as it is. Also, for **Being Human** fans with sharper eyes than mine-- the reason the washer and dryer are in the basement of the pink house is, I wrote the story containing their first appearance before I noticed what I am pretty sure is a washing machine in the kitchen. So in Housemates!verse, they have a dryer too, and both machines are in the basement. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Transitional chapter. It's worth noting that, while heroes may indeed be arseholes, Lokis are not necessarily the most objective observers, either. 
> 
>  

As he followed Clint down the stairs to the lounge, Loki found he had to make a deliberate effort to maintain his composure. Speaking to George, and making a sort of contact with Annie, should have been comforting. And it _was_ comforting, it was only that it also rather rubbed in how badly he missed them. He meant no disrespect to Clint, but the agent was hardly a suitable replacement for Loki's friends. 

He would have felt the same way even if the agent's presence in his home had not continued to make him feel uneasy. His misgivings about Clint's presence were non-specific-- rather like the way that perfectly pleasant guest room in Tony's Malibu house had affected him-- and that made them rather more frightening. The last time his magic had been restrained, Loki had also been left with vague memories of fear or comfort (these latter were fewer in number but equally powerful.) He found himself deeply resenting his vulnerability to such phantoms.

Which Clint, fortunately did not notice, being understandably preoccupied with more important concerns of his own.

"We need to get back to Daisy and the others," Clint was saying as they descended the stairs. "I have the feeling she's not the steadiest canoe in the river and if she loses her grip I don't think we'll like what happens next."

"Understood," Loki agreed, choosing to disregard the garbled metaphor (what in the Nine was a _canoe?)_ as he looked for-- and found-- his jacket hanging on its hook by the front door. It was not that he expected his friends to immediately give all his belongings to the new Loki and forget him, but he still experienced a shameful little flutter of relief as he tucked his mobile and keys into their accustomed pocket and then shrugged into the garment. "So we will go to them?" 

"The only thing is," Clint said slowly, with the air of having just thought of something unpleasant, "I wish we had a better idea what the other local vampires are actually up to. If they really have gone Dark Side there isn't any point in sending Daisy and the others back into the middle of things-- if Ivan can't re-establish himself as leader, they'll just get killed or maybe join up themselves."

"I see," Loki murmured, and he did in fact see one thing: Clint had not suggested the obvious solution to the problem, which was to kill these vampires and so remove them from the equation altogether. He was, in fact, concerned that they _not_ be killed.

That was…surprising. 

Not that Loki himself, as little affection as he personally held for the general run of vampires, had any desire for these vampires to die. Mitchell was a vampire, and in spite of estrangement Loki knew Mitchell retained a certain attachment to the community. Loki would do much to avoid hurting his friend.

And besides, the last time Loki declared any other beings to be monsters deserving of annihilation, he had been tragically and catastrophically wrong. He had killed in battle, yes-- including vampires, if one's definition of "battle" was generous-- and felt no guilt or remorse for doing what he could not avoid. Plain murder, however, was another matter. He could not countenance it, not and remain the creature he had been shaped into by his time in England.

And, once again-- _Mitchell was a vampire,_ which was a compelling argument in favour of the ability of his kind to choose a better path, if they so desired. Perhaps that was behind Ivan's choice to reject Doom's plans. Perhaps that was why Geoff was trying to find Ivan, to foil the schemes of Doom's ally. Perhaps, in the wake of Herrick's death, more of the vampires had chosen the sort of path Mitchell followed, and so deserved the same second chance that Mitchell-- among others-- had been offered.

With all that said, though, Loki knew that, to Clint and Natasha, killing was largely a matter of expedience. He felt rather surprised that Clint seemed so disinclined to suggest it as a solution now. 

Although… Tony had once commented on Clint's particular brand of sentimentality. Perhaps this was another demonstration of it. Regardless, Loki offered, 

"They may still use the same gathering place as in Herrick's day. I know where to find it, so we can perhaps pay them a visit and try to learn their plans."

Clint favoured him with a sour look. "Great idea. I've always wanted to end up a vampire canapé."

Loki smirked. "Do not worry, I have a plan."

He was unsurprised, and also not offended, when Clint did not look terribly reassured.

~oOo~

"Thor, can we talk for a minute?" Coulson asked quietly, and led Thor and Mitchell to the kitchen at the back of the safe house. 

"Yes?" Thor asked. Mitchell looked deeply uncomfortable, but Coulson remained quite composed.

"Tell me about Dark Elves," he requested. 

Thor sighed. "There is very little to say, and certainly nothing that resembles the tale you were just told. Mitchell, you may perhaps recall hearing the story of an incident in my brother's and my youth, when he was left behind on a hostile realm, and took the form of a fox to survive?" Mitchell nodded. "That was Svartalfheim. Its inhabitants are unfriendly to most of the other realms, and so nowadays are largely left to their own devices. It was not always so.

"Many years ago, in the reign of my grandfather, Bor Allfather, the Svartalfar-- Dark Elves, in your language-- were led by a brutal warlord known as Malekith the Accursed." 

"Between him and Laufey, your realms seem to have a history of trouble with 'brutal warlords,'" Coulson remarked, before he could stop himself. 

"Indeed," Thor agreed tightly. "Whereas Midgard has always had as its rulers men of wisdom and peace, such as Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin." 

"Touché," Mitchell murmured. 

"I can, after all, read," Thor grumbled. "And my friend Darcy, who studies political science, possesses many tomes of the history of this realm-- and a bloody history it frequently has been."

"I apologize," Coulson said. "You're absolutely correct, and I was being an insular asshole. Malekith the Accursed was a bad guy. Got it. What else?"

"When we characterize him as a warlord," Thor persisted, "it is because of his ambitions against the rest of the Nine. He came into possession of a powerful weapon, known to history as the Aether, the nature of which is a matter of legend. It was said that, with this weapon, he could destroy the universe and all within it. He sought to return the universe to the nothingness from which it came, and then he and his people would rule over it."

There was a shadow of mischief on Thor's face as he paused to allow that to sink in. Finally, Coulson spoke. 

"He intended to destroy the universe and everything in it."

"Yes. So it is told," Thor replied gravely. 

"And then _rule over it,"_ Coulson said, just to be sure.

"Yes."

"Over _nothing._ Which he had created by destroying _everything in the universe._ Which would, logically, also include _him and his people."_

"So it is written," Thor confirmed, and finally smiled at the expressions on Coulson and Mitchell's faces. "The chroniclers of the time were poets rather than political scientists. There was a certain amount of… license… taken in their records, which led to a great deal of frustration for my brother and myself, when we studied such histories. And not a little shouting at our tutor about the common sense of the whole story." 

"I can imagine," Mitchell said. "So what happened?"

"To Malekith? Oh, he was defeated by the mighty armies of Asgard. The Aether was destroyed, and Malekith himself was banished to a place between realms, from whence he will come, in the legends of his people, to lead them to glorious victory against their enemies."

"Is that last bit more poetry?" Coulson wanted to know. 

"Yes, rather like the stories of King Arthur," Thor agreed. "Is it not strange how the stories of one realm may have as their shadow those of another? I know this must seem to you rather childish stuff. That is because history as taught to children in Asgard was greatly simplified, and often influenced by myth and legend."

"Not completely different here, really," Mitchell pointed out, and Coulson nodded. 

"So what actually happened?" Coulson asked. "Do you know?"

"Yes-- as princes of the realm, Loki and I needed to learn more than the legends. We read the original documents-- letters of command, what you would call 'dispatches' from the battlefields-- written during the war by our grandfather and his generals, which may still have been biased but were certainly not poetic. Malekith's ambitions-- and these probably encompassed Niflheim, and possibly Nidavellir at most, rather than all the Nine-- were thwarted by an alliance of the other realms-- among them, though this was never emphasized in our stories, Jotunheim. The Aether, whatever it was, was destroyed. 

"Malekith himself was presumed killed. His body was never found, which naturally gave rise to the legends of his return. Given the lifespan of Svartalfar is about the same as that of the Aesir and Jotnar, he would in any event be long dead by now-- all this transpired several thousand years ago and he was not a youth at the time. The Svartalfar were for a time outcasts among the Nine, but showing little appetite for conquest without Malekith's goading, our mutual relations have long since returned to a sort of grudging neutrality. Unless, of course, foolish youths from Asgard go to their realm to cause trouble."

"So nobody got exterminated," Coulson made absolutely certain. 

"That is correct," Thor agreed. "The very idea is-- we do not, in the other realms, have your term _war crimes,_ but we do share your distaste for the actions those words encompass. Even in my grandfather's time, which I concede was rather less enlightened, there were rules to govern the actions of kings and soldiers. What you call _genocide_ has never been countenanced by Asgard." Thor winced. "Well, _my_ Asgard."

"Okay, thanks," Coulson said, after a moment. He still seemed very thoughtful, while Thor was beginning to look defensive. 

_"Genocide_ is an Earth word," Mitchell spoke up. Coulson and Thor looked puzzled, and Mitchell addressed the agent, "I get that you're uneasy about Earth being allied with a world that could do what the other Thor described, but Earth _has a word for genocide._ And we have it because _we've done it._ It's not like we're innocent lambs ourselves. Honestly, what bothered me about the other Thor's story wasn't so much that it happened, as the fact it didn't bother him. There's plenty in British and American history that we sure wouldn't want to happen again, and if we were telling those stories to Asgard we'd make that clear." 

"True," Coulson agreed. "The thing is, if the other Loki did what he did because he'd been raised to genuinely believe it was _right,_ I'm a little concerned about your friends being left with him."

"Oh, I agree," Mitchell said grimly. "Although both Loki and Bor did what they did to enemies during wartime. Which doesn't make it less wrong, obviously, but it doesn't automatically follow that Loki's planning to turn on people who are helping him. 

"Another thing we should keep in mind about Asgard is, their Jotnar were _still there_ to be attacked by Loki, which suggests either there was no war in the other reality-- "

"Unlikely, given all the other points of similarity," Thor interjected, and Mitchell nodded. 

"-- or that Odin, at least, isn't quite as bloodthirsty as we're picturing right now."

"Which is indeed _quite_ bloodthirsty," Thor admitted. 

"I can imagine," Mitchell sympathized. "But let's not get carried away, yeah? Speaking both as a vampire and a former human, it's not as though Asgard has the market cornered on vicious." 

"I still find the other Thor's attitude disturbing," Thor said. 

"Don't blame you a bit," Coulson told him. "I find myself hoping the Coulson in the other world wasn't involved in any plans to torture their Loki. But Mitchell's right, we shouldn't give that story more weight than it deserves. And at least Thor-- the other Thor-- is sidelined at the moment."

"What does SHIELD have in mind for these Avengers?" Mitchell asked. 

"We're still trying to track down Strange," Coulson said. "As soon as we do, we'll ask him to set up another portal and send these jokers home."

"Bit weird he's nowhere to be found, isn't it?" Mitchell said uneasily. 

"Not really," Coulson replied, a trace of irritation in his voice. "He's willing to be helpful, and he does consider he owes the Avengers and Loki a favour for rescuing him that time, but he's not a _hireling."_ The tone in which he uttered the word suggested a long-standing point of contention. 

"So he makes sure he's not there to call on every time you happen to need him," Mitchell guessed. 

"Something like that," Coulson agreed. 

"Well, I hope he turns up soon," Mitchell remarked. "Before Othor out there figures out how to get his hands on his brother."

"Yeah," Coulson said dryly, and didn't look at Thor. 

~oOo~

Before they left the house, Loki made another quick trip to the basement. The washing machine and dryer were at the foot of the stairs, and the rest of the bare concrete space was given over to storage. Earlier, when he had been trying to determine which of his garments had gone missing, Loki had paid little attention to the other side of the basement. Now he turned toward the far side, with its shelving and boxes.

And froze, hardly breathing, at the sight of a shape lurking in that darkened corner. For a moment he really was unable to move. It took a real effort of will to make himself creep closer and really look at what was there.

After everything he had been through in the past-- Clint had said only two days, although given his sense of time lost that hardly seemed possible-- 

After everything he had been through in the past two days, it was quite ridiculous to be frightened of _an empty suit of clothes_ hanging silent in a corner. Particularly not garb that bore such a strong resemblance to that which Tony had made for him, on the grounds one could not fight crime clad in jeans and a hoodie. But those clothes were long since destroyed, and these-- scruffy and battered though they were-- were not the same. Even from a slight distance it was possible to see they had not been crafted on Midgard.

They looked like a threat. A reminder of what he had been, and might become again. 

For a long moment Loki stood still as chills and heat chased each other up and down his body, and then sanity reasserted itself. In the first place, it was only clothing, and had no power to influence his actions. Even the first horned helmet had not been responsible for his evil, irrational thoughts.

In the second place, of course, he had worn such garb quite recently, when he visited his parents for the celebrations at Yuletide. There was no reason for him to succumb to foolish superstition. 

As he forced himself to think, of course, the solution presented itself: this was the garb of the other Loki. Which naturally made sense, if the other Loki was now, whether for comfort or camouflage, wearing clothing belonging to himself. Surely he had not arrived here nude. 

Reassured the garments had not somehow… come for him… Loki made himself walk up to the corner where they hung. He was not entirely sure why he felt compelled to do so, and was quite aware of the ridiculous figure he cut, creeping forward as if fearful of attack _by empty clothing,_ but he could not seem to help himself. 

From a slight distance, the garments had looked battered. Closer to, the evidence of hard usage was even stronger. The heavy wool fabric, and the leather, were ripped and scraped, bloody inside and out. 

The smell was more than distressing. It made Loki's flesh creep to imagine how long one would have to spend in the same clothing, deprived of ordinary luxuries like baths or the ability to dress wounds, for garb to stink like this. He felt ashamed of grudging that other Loki the use of any of his clean, comfortable raiment, or any other small comforts his home could provide. 

The thought of how disappointed Annie would be, if she knew of these mean-spirited thoughts, provoked further uneasiness. Well, he resolved, if he and the other Loki met, he would do his best to be kind.

With this resolution made, Loki edged past the clothing, toward the shelves next to its hanging place. His own Asgardian clothing was stored in a box here. On another of the shelves was a plastic storage container, where Scamp's mortal bones rested. 

And behind that container, tucked away where Mitchell need never see or think about it, was a dingy cloth shopping bag. It bulged and rattled as Loki picked it up, bristling from within as sharp points pressed against the fabric.

Loki peeked inside, satisfying himself that his handmade stakes were in good condition, and then gratefully ran back upstairs. 

"All set?" Clint asked, and did not comment on Loki's expression. It was impossible to tell whether Loki had successfully concealed his moment of weakness, or Clint simply had more important things on his mind. 

Regardless, Loki nodded. "Quite," he said. 

For some reason Clint smirked at the reply, and then reached into his pocket to retrieve a car key. 

"Probably better if you drive. Also, Mitchell's Volvo is pretty awesome, but it's also kind of conspicuous. The last thing we want right now is to get mobbed by classic car nuts. So we better take the SHIELD car, if that's all right with you. It's a standard," Clint added, possibly remembering the limitations of Loki's automotive abilities. 

"I can drive an automatic," grumbled Loki, who knew what was expected of him. "I simply prefer not to."

Clint looked amused. "Well, I hope you don't have anything against Hondas," he said, as he checked his own weaponry and turned toward the door.

"According to Mitchell, Honda-powered McLarens were the favoured weapon of the fabled Ayrton Senna," Loki recited from memory, and was rewarded with a short snort of laughter from Clint.

"Remind me to introduce the two of you to NASCAR sometime," the archer said. "That's real racing. Now come on." 

The little-- well, it was surprisingly large on the inside-- black hatchback bore no resemblance whatsoever to a racing car, but it handled well and blended smoothly into traffic. It was also easy to park, which Loki did on a street a little distance from B. Edwards Funeral Home. 

"Okay, what's the plan?" Clint asked as he unfastened his seatbelt. 

"I intend to place a glamour over the two of us," Loki explained. "It will not render us invisible, exactly, but will block the ability of others to perceive us. As long as we do not speak or touch anyone, we will escape notice."

"Cool," Clint agreed. Loki concealed his relief at the human's acceptance of such a limited concealment. Were he at full strength, Loki was capable of much more powerful workings, but for the moment this would have to do. The two of them exited the car and, as they walked down the pavement, Loki gathered his shroud of magic around them. 

The funeral home was in a quiet part of the city, which suited Loki very well since he did not think he could make the glamour strong enough to let the two of them press through a crowd without notice. Perhaps he should have drunk a third cup of tea before they set out. 

A couple of dark-suited figures lounged in front of the funeral home, smoking cigarettes. Since they were not SHIELD agents, it followed they were vampires. Remembering the back exit, Loki gestured to Clint to follow him into the alley next to the building. Bypassing rubbish and recycling bins, they came to the steel fire door. Loki laid a hand upon it, feeling for any presence on the other side. There was no sign of the characteristic magical signature of vampires. Loki breathed a little power through the door, to the chains and locks he knew from experience to expect, and felt them silently disentangle themselves. 

A moment later he and Clint were slipping through the door and creeping toward the heart of the vampire headquarters. 

~oOo~

"Doombots. Gotta be," said Tony Stark. 

"How many of them could you see?" Steve Rogers asked, turning to face Loki. His tone was calm and commanding but empty of threat, as if the idea of seizing Loki by the throat and choking the answers out of him had never crossed his mind.

He reminded Loki of someone. Of course, the Captain America of his own-- of the reality he had come from-- also reminded Loki of someone, but that someone was _Thor,_ which did little to inspire confidence in himself. This one…

Well, in fact, he still reminded Loki of Thor, but it was of the Thor who belonged here, and that was a very different prospect. There was someone else, though. It would come to him. 

"Loki?" Natasha Romanov prompted, bringing Loki back to the present. 

"I had not time to count them," Loki admitted. "They seemed endless."

"Damn," Bruce Banner murmured, rubbing his temples. "Could you tell where he is? You said you… followed him to his lair?"

"I followed a thread of magic," Loki corrected. "It is not an accurate means of navigation." He hesitated, then admitted, "I could, perhaps, locate the physical place, but it seemed wisest to alert you to this army first."

And _that_ was the strangest thing about this entire episode, the urge to warn these Avengers. In one sense, of course, it was the obvious thing to do. This _Dr. Doom_ was a direct threat to himself, and he was too weak as yet to defend himself, nor did he know this Yggdrasil well enough to flee. Of course he must enlist the help of the Avengers, taking advantage of their mutual interests.

But that was not all of it. It did not explain his urge to bring them information, as once he had to his… to Thor, and Thor's companions. In those days he had existed at the edge of their circle, but he had been tolerated, at least, so long as he made himself useful. 

So long as he was useful and made no claim on anything belonging to the true son of Odin. That much had been made abundantly clear to him: whatever companionship he had ever been offered, whatever affection from his keepers, was entirely conditional on his utility to the golden prince. 

_No, Loki._

The memory might have made him angry, but it was a memory that belonged to a different Loki, one who had perished in the void. The one who stood here had been alone for as long as he had existed, and he should have had sense not to reach for things he could never have. It should have all been burned and scoured out of him, the wish to belong and not be lonely, to prove himself worthy of… of… 

He no longer knew what or who he had wanted to be worthy _of._

The wish should have died with the Loki who wished it. Instead, of course, it had been taken up by his… allies. Had proven useful to them, after all, when Loki weakened enough for the blue gem to do its work. Aesir or… something else… he had been a tougher prospect than the little mortal creatures who succumbed to a touch, but that which was useful in him had bent at last to the will of the Other. He would prove himself to _someone,_ after all.

 _You lack conviction._

He had failed, and was broken, and was taken away to die in his cell. The Loki left there had no need of wants or wishes.

But now…

Now, though he knew it was foolish, dangerous, _hopeless--_

Though he was no longer the creature who waited in the shadows and yearned to be invited into the light--

There was still, in what he had become, the ghost of that old desire. 

_It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive._

As the words of the song came to him, he realized that, perhaps, was part of it: there was more to the little mortals of this world than he had previously realized. He was beginning to be interested in some of them, with their practical kindness and their strange lonely music. This Dr. Doom had plans for them-- plans that uncomfortably echoed those Loki had so loudly professed, when he was making himself conspicuous. 

Loki's "plans" had never been intended to succeed, were always meant as a distraction. Dr. Doom, however, was in earnest. He knew this realm, had the measure of its heroes. Between his allies, and his army, and… whatever he intended for Loki himself… there was a chance of him succeeding. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki could see Annie standing beside him, her expression determined. Behind him, he knew, was George, with his snub nose and his spectacles and his mulish expression. That expression would be mirrored by Nina, the healer, who was mortally offended by this threat to her home and people. 

There was little they could do, these three. Loki was not sure even the Avengers could thwart Doom's plans, with his help or without it. But there were stories in the chronicles, of villagers who defied invasion to the last, who died free and never surrendered. 

It helped, of course, that the general run of mortals could only die once. Still, he felt in these three that same spirit, so strong it was more like a memory than an impression. Once, he would have found it amusing. Now… it was less so. 

"You think you can locate him?" Steve Rogers asked, his expression calm and direct. For an instant Loki had the oddest impression of a shining breastplate, and then he heard himself replying,

"I think I can. Make your preparations, and I will tell you what I find."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Regarding the conversation about genocide in this chapter-- when I wrote **Monsters** , I expected it to be a shortish, standalone story and did not anticipate turning it into a series. As a result there are things I kind of wish I had held in reserve, including Loki learning that Earth has a special word for the thing he did to Jotunheim, which might have given him something to think about. I know "aliens learning from humans how to be better people" is a classic trope, but let's face it: MCU!Loki was wrong about a whole lot of things-- but "Earthlings, as individuals as well as groups, are frequently violent arseholes" certainly wasn't one of them. _


	36. Chapter 36

It transpired that Clint the spy could move nearly as quietly as Loki, which was one less thing to worry about. The two quietly bypassed the rooms where, in the days when this was an active funeral home, the deceased would be prepared for human rituals of burial or cremation. Loki did not turn his head toward the refrigeration room that had once served as a prison for Mitchell, George, and Jane. 

He also tried not to think about the unsettling details of these human rituals, reminding himself that, cultural differences aside, the shape of Midgard acted as a considerable barrier to the sort of funerals he was accustomed to in Asgard. You could hardly send a flaming ship off the edge of a world that did not possess edges.

And it was perhaps better if he did not continue that train of thought. 

There were voices ahead of them, raised in anger or excitement. Loki held up a warning hand to Clint. The agent came to a halt, watching Loki narrowly. Loki gestured to him to stand still, then raised a finger to his lips. Clint nodded, and waited as Loki eased forward to investigate. 

As he moved closer the sound of voices increased in volume, and he could pick out at least four different speakers. They were coming from a large room at the front of the building, one of the "viewing rooms" that opened off the entry hall where once Loki had killed several vampires. He recalled this incident without a trace of guilt, but certainly hoped such actions would not be called for during this covert mission. 

As he reached the open doorway of the viewing room, he turned back to Clint, made the gesture for silence one last time, and then beckoned him forward. Clint rolled his eyes a little at the first signal, but came forward soft-footed and joined Loki in peering into the room. 

From where they stood, in the doorway that took up most of one wall of the room, they could see to their right a set of large folding doors, which presumably could be opened up in the event of a really large funeral to give into the viewing room beside it. The left-hand wall was solid, with a door that led into the small business office next door. At the back of the room was an arrangement of chairs, for the comfort of those attending a funeral or wake. 

The vampires had clustered there, some of them seated, while others walked back and forth before them. Loki led the way to the left-hand wall, at a safe distance from any doors or furniture, and the two of them stood quietly listening.

"How do we know he isn't coming back?" demanded a burly, bald-headed vampire as he paced. 

"Does it matter if he does?" was the reply from a vampire who resembled a silver-haired, elderly woman. "I tell you, Wyndham was planning to call in the other Old Ones, and you know what will happen then."

A young-looking vampire with a bristling-short haircut folded his arms. "So you're saying that either we go along with you or we'll be made to?"

"Yes," was the flat reply from a tough-looking vampire in a dark suit. "Herrick used to say-- "

"Oh, shut the fuck up about Herrick," snapped the young-looking vampire. "All his big talk just got him staked by a fucking _ghost._ And what did he accomplish? We're still in the shadows, Mitchell isn't back with us, and his alien pal would as soon see the lot of us dust as not."

"I thought Wyndham had a plan to bring him in on our side," added the burly vampire, aggressively. 

"Don't see any sign of it, myself," said the young one, warming to the argument. "I have to pass a playground every day on the way home from work, and today I was warned off by those damned rhinoceroses again, same as ever." 

"Yes, but have you seen _him?"_ countered a second dark-suited vampire. That brought the two objectors up short. 

"What do you mean?" the young-looking vampire asked, looking suddenly a shade less sure of himself. 

"I know the spells are still in place, but the sorcerer himself _isn't._ Seth-- "

"Oh, _Seth--_ " sneered the young vampire, but he sounded rather uncertain. 

"Before he left with Wyndham, Seth sent me to keep a lookout on Mitchell's house," the dark-suited vampire went on, unperturbed. "They're all gone, Mitchell and his little dog-- " this term, Loki knew, applied to George rather than Scamp-- "and the ghost. And the wizard. Gone. There's a human staying there and working at the school. Kind of suggests someone wanted to get Loki out of the way, doesn't it?"

"Maybe he's not as powerful as we've been led to believe," the female vampire suggested. Loki resisted a sudden impulse to drop the glamour and rain down fire upon them all. 

"Or maybe Doom did get him, and the rest of them ratted. Regardless-- _he's not here._ And there's something else you should know," said the first dark-suited vampire. 

"What's that?" asked the burly vampire, who also appeared rather less belligerent at the moment. 

The dark-suited vampire bared his teeth in the sort of smile one imagined rising toward a surfer, with a fin on top. "You're the last two."

"We're what?" asked the burly objector, startled. 

"You're the last. Wherever Ivan's gone, Doom and Wyndham are the ones behind it. We've been paying some visits around town, and everyone else has seen sense." The two dissenting vampires glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and their antagonists didn't miss the gesture. The silver-haired woman pressed home the advantage: 

"You can try to stand up against the rest of us if you want to, but when the Old Ones come you'll be held to account for it."

Loki began to wish Mitchell had said more about the vampire culture to his housemates, and most particularly these Old Ones. 

"Take a little time to think about it," the first dark-suited vampires suggested, with synthetic sympathy. 

"Only not too much," said the other, a complacent look that was nearly a smirk beginning to quirk at his mouth. "You might have been counting on Ivan being able to stand up to Wyndham, but Ivan is gone, and the Old Ones are coming. Think fast, gentlemen."

Even allowing for the fact they were dead, the dissenting vampires looked distinctly unwell as they took their leave. Loki found himself tempted to go after them and find out what they decided to do, but the right choice seemed rather obvious. It would be more valuable to know what the main body of the community was planning. 

In that he was doomed to disappointment: there were no useful recaps of their plans, such as happened in films when the heroes stood behind a door. Instead, one of the dark-suited vampires merely remarked, 

"If Ivan ever comes back, he'll have a lot to answer for." 

"I never thought he was such a timid creature," the other agreed.

"Not so much timid as lazy," corrected the woman. "But his being lazy suited the cowards among us a little too well. And _that_ won't go over when the Old Ones come. Especially not if it's true Mr. Snow will be with them."

All three looked at one another with expressions of unease that made Loki feel distinctly nervous, then took their leave of one another and departed in three different directions. Fighting down a sense of nearly overwhelming anxiety, Loki gestured toward the fire exit and led Clint from the building. 

When they were safely back inside the little black car, Loki permitted the glamour to dissipate so that, if anyone chanced to be looking at them, it would appear they had been in the car the whole time. He was fumbling with the ignition key when Clint broke the silence.

"Well, that didn't sound good. What do you know about Old Ones, or this Mr. Snow?" 

Loki shook his head. "Nothing. Mitchell does not often speak of the vampires. I know nothing of the Old Ones, and the name 'Mr. Snow' is completely unfamiliar to me."

Clint's expression was decidedly sour as he said, "Might have been nice of Mitchell to give you a little bit of a heads-up, considering you're the first line of defence here against the vampires rising against humanity."

He did not add that Loki had been seriously remiss in not making it his business to learn all there was to know about a potential vampire threat, but the rebuke was there for Loki to hear. It was perfectly just, and so he silently accepted it, and started the car. 

"We had better get over to the hotel and see what we can do about Ivan," Clint offered, which was perhaps a peace offering. Loki nodded agreement, and they set off. 

~oOo~

"Tony, do you know if there's an atlas anywhere in the house?" George asked, and flushed when the rest of the group looked at him. "We're asking Loki to track down Doom, but what if he doesn't know exactly where Doom is when he finds him?"

"Are you sure an atlas will help?" Bruce asked gently, and then looked apologetic when George flushed and both Nina and Loki glared. Once again, Tony thought Loki's reaction, at least, was probably a good sign.

"Well, if you've got a better idea I'm all ears," George replied patiently-- and then flushed again, possibly because his close-cropped haircut did make that particular feature look, well, awfully prominent. Nobody laughed, possibly out of fear of Nina, and George amended, "No, really, if there's a better plan and I haven't thought of it, let's hear it."

Tony, for one, thought it over pretty hard, but didn't come up with any especially great ideas for translating a vision by Loki into map coordinates. 

"Fine," he shrugged, "we'll try it. The TV room used to be the library-- don't look at me like that, Steve-- and the books that were in there are all kind of scattered around the house. Let's see what we can find."

Most of Howard's old books had ended up divided among the guest rooms, which at least meant they didn't have to search through boxes in the storage rooms. Within half an hour, Nina had found an atlas and a guide to the Highlands-- both of them showing signs of incipient disintegration-- in the room next to Bruce's. Aware they were probably unwanted, the Avengers still followed Loki almost to the foot of the staircase to his bedchamber. 

And that was where he stopped, wearing the stony expression that probably meant he was terrified, and glanced at Annie. 

Who smiled at everyone and said nicely, "There really isn't room enough for everyone in Loki's room. Can you wait down here and we'll let you know what he sees?"

"When you find something, can you cast an image of what you see?" Natasha asked Loki directly. "Between ourselves, depending on where Doom is, we might recognize something useful."

"I should be able to do so," Loki replied cautiously, flexing the fingers of his right hand in a tense gesture he was probably unaware of.

"That would be very helpful," Natasha said neutrally.

"Seriously, how far is he likely to have gone?" Bruce asked. "Doom, I mean. If his allies are here in Britain he'll have to confer with them-- unless he trusts them a hell of a lot more than I'm willing to believe he does." 

Nina opened her mouth as though to ask a question, probably about those allies, and behind her George looked panicky. Tony had just realized she didn't know about the vampires when Natasha stepped in smoothly:

"Loki, if there isn't space for us all in your bedroom, can you scry in one of the rooms down here?" Tony mentally applauded her for providing him with an out, even though everyone in the room knew perfectly well the real problem was that Loki didn't want a bunch of Avengers in the room he considered a safe place. Tony, who also didn't stick his hands into badger dens, was perfectly willing to respect Loki's privacy. As long as, you know, he wasn’t up there plotting to kill them all. 

Which admittedly didn't seem particularly likely at the moment, but it was probably worth remembering they were dealing with a completely different Loki. Not that forgetting was likely when they looked at the lined, tired face. 

Loki considered the idea for a moment and then nodded stiffly and turned to Annie. 

"Perhaps you would assist me in gathering what I require?" 

Annie seemed to understand this was as close to a polite request for help as he was able to manage. There was a time when Tony had been a little worried about Annie's eagerness to accommodate other people, but since she'd had it out with the ex-- with her murderer-- she seemed to have developed a little more balance there. At the moment her smile was compassionate as she agreed, and the two of them went upstairs together. 

The formal living room had plenty of room for everyone without crowding. Steve and Tony, under direction from George, set up a low table near one of the couches, while Bruce drew the curtains. Loki and Annie returned with a goblet of water and a candle-- which certainly did not take two people to carry, and therefore drew attention to the kind of _assistance_ he'd felt he needed from Annie-- and arranged them on the table. Natasha withdrew quietly to sit on one of the hard, formal sofas on the far side of the room, and the other Avengers joined her. Annie, George, and Nina settled onto the couch nearest Loki, and they all waited in silence for him to begin.

Loki lit his candle and then sat on the floor so he could look at the flame through the glass and water. From the ceiling above them, JARVIS spoke. 

"Sir, do you wish for me to-- ?"

"Yes," Loki replied abruptly, eyes pinned to the flame before him. Above their heads came the sound of some rather ominously familiar music. Tony was so used to making smartass remarks to _their_ Loki that he almost forgot and blurted something.

Instead, thank God, he managed to restrain himself. As Loki frowned at the candle flame, Tony eased his Starkphone out of his pocket, made sure it was set to silent mode, and activated the function that let him text JARVIS. He'd developed the app so he and Pepper could quickly request data during board meetings at Stark Industries. Okay, Tony sometimes also used it to make JARVIS look up the answers to trivia questions. And he suspected Pepper and JARVIS sometimes used it to commiserate with each other when Tony was being difficult, but that was neither here nor there. 

_springsteen?_ he texted now.

_YES, SIR. IT AIDS HIM IN CONCENTRATION._

_darkness on the edge of town? WHY???_

_BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE A COPY OF **BORN TO RUN** LOADED IN MY SYSTEM, SIR._

Smartass AI. 

Tony, making a mental note to make sure Clint never heard about this, returned his attention to Loki, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands resting loosely in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the flickering candle flame, his expression one of calm concentration. He looked more relaxed than he had at any moment with the Avengers present so far. 

As they watched, the flame seemed to take on a greenish tinge, and Loki's brows drew together a little. Tony held his breath.

~oOo~

Loki was rather deeply grateful to JARVIS for its-- _his?--_ assistance in maintaining the atmosphere most conducive to concentration. The scrying effort occupied much of his available power, but he still had sufficient to be able to register the reassuring presence of Annie and the others nearby, and the sounds coming from above him blocked and muffled the worst of the nagging voices in the dark corners of his mind. 

The flame seemed to move closer, filling his visual field, until he felt himself floating in its embrace. Everything around him was dark, dark as the void, but he felt no threat. He simply let himself rest.

After what might have been a very long time, he felt himself grope for the bright thread of magic he had followed before. Once again he felt his power touch it, use it as a guide to be followed to its source. Carefully-- very carefully-- he traced the same path, into the windowless and lamplit room, where the power had its source. 

Which was not, of course, his main purpose in making this effort. He had been bade _find_ the sorcerer, this Doom, and relay his location, or the information necessary to work that out. He was not supposed to come creeping and peer once again over Doom's shoulder. 

That was, of course, one of the reasons Loki was doing so. All those centuries as the tool of the Allfather or his son-- perhaps even of his wife, though Loki did not like to think on that-- and then of the creatures who found him in the void-- it was enough, all of it. His ridiculous longing to _belong_ had somehow lived on, but no longer at the price of obedience to order or whim. 

He wanted to see what Doom was up to, what these _Doombot_ soldiers actually were. And so he drew in closely, almost within range of Doom's central core of magic, and allowed himself the time to "look."

Whatever a Doombot might be, it was not a living creature. There was no sensation of anything living in the vast space apart from Doom himself. The caped and masked figure was very busy working at something, crafting something, and as he worked Loki could see movement from the identical soldiers, as though Doom might be testing or adjusting some means of control.

The inhuman soldiers were not yet active, or activated. Doom possessed an army of great size and unknown power, but as yet he was unable to deploy them to his command. That meant he could still be forestalled. 

This was worth disobeying orders to learn. Surely the Avengers would see that much. 

Heart thumping, Loki began the magical equivalent of backing soft-footed away from the presence of the sorcerer. Now came the difficult part. It was not precisely easy to follow the thread of magic to its source, but it was still infinitely simpler than stopping at some point along the thread to try and look around. In fact, while on his way to what amounted to the anchorage of this magic, Loki had been entirely unaware of any surroundings. This was not at all like following a physical thread to its source, unless that thread shone and dangled through the black silence of the void--

_Stop that._

Now, as he groped and felt his way back, he pushed at his magic, dimly aware of his own resentment that his once-considerable powers had been, even temporarily _(let it be temporarily),_ rendered so feeble. Once, following this thread would have been child's play, literally the sort of thing he might have done for fun or practice in his early magical studies. Now, with his powers only beginning to recover and with the calls already made upon them on this day, Loki could feel his head beginning to swim. 

He could, of course, let go-- he was not really lost in the void, if he released his grip now he would find himself sitting on the floor under the eyes of everyone. And all he need do was confess his own failure and uselessness. 

The idea nearly caused him to lose his grip on the guiding thread. He had little power, and therefore little time, left to spare on this. Loki made himself reach out, felt himself floundering, felt some reservoir within himself emptying--

\-- And then, for a brief moment, he could _see._

Mountains, steep and yet covered in green, in trees and grasses rather than rock or snow, their peaks shrouded in misty cloud. At their feet, Loki could see glittering lakes, deep and mysterious. It was a wild landscape, a place of power and magic, and the urge to reach out and try to touch that power was nearly insurmountable. It was not like the call of the Tesseract, that beguiled you to disaster yet made to want to embrace your fate. It was simply there, wild and elemental, asking nothing and offering nothing, but vital, somehow _alive._ Loki wished he could stay and investigate, but--

His metaphorical grip slipped as the last traces of his power faded, and there was a heart-stopping moment of blackness, as though he really had tumbled back into the void. 

Then he was back in the room with the others, slumped forward with his forearms resting on the edge of the table. A moment later Annie was sitting beside him, a hand on his shoulder. He was aware of a bustle of movement that eventually resolved into George offering him a tumbler of water, and the Avengers drawing close. 

To Loki's surprise no one pressed him for information until he had drunk some of the water and gathered his wits a little. Only then did Annie ask what he had seen. Rather apprehensively, Loki related Doom's actions regarding his army. No one rebuked him, and he went on to describe his glimpse of the landscape. 

"Could you where Doom was?" Tony Stark wanted to know. Sourly, Loki shook his head. 

"I could not tell how far away I had gotten, when I was able to see," he admitted. 

"Could he have been right there?" Steve Rogers asked. "In the mountain itself, I mean. The room you were in-- did it feel like a cave?"

Loki considered, sipping his water, before replying, "I do not think so. It felt _made_ \-- rather like a dungeon." The word was out before he thought, and apprehension gripped him. 

"Or a cellar, maybe?" George offered, and Loki clutched at the idea. 

"Perhaps," he agreed. 

"Can you show us?" asked Natasha Romanov, and once again Loki shook his head. He simply had not the strength at the moment to cast an illusion. 

"I will be recovered soon enough," he muttered. Annie patted him and got to her feet. 

"I'll go make some tea, shall I?" she said, as she left the room. Neither George nor Nina offered to go with her, which was unusual. Instead, they helped Loki get up and join them on the sofa. 

Meanwhile, Tony Stark had picked up one of the books, the one about the Highlands, and was flipping through it. "Hey, Loki, did the landscape look anything like these pictures?" He came closer and turned the book so that Loki could see. 

"Yes," Loki agreed, before hastily clarifying, "None of those show the exact place, but the landscape was very similar."

"Okay, so that makes it very likely Doom really is somewhere in the Highlands," Tony Stark said. "And I don't know about you, but I think it's time we brought the war to him, so to speak."

"Beats waiting for the Doombots to start showing up," Bruce Banner agreed. "What do you have in mind, Tony?"

"We could begin with a spot of aerial reconnaissance."

Banner raised his eyebrows. "You in the suit? Nothing like getting the man's attention."

Tony Stark shook his head. "I had something a little more subtle in mind." Turning to Natasha Romanov, he smirked. "I have a proposition for you."

"Of course you do," the spy replied.

~oOo~

"So what are you going to do with them?" Mitchell asked, as he put his suit jacket back on and adjusted his necktie. Thor's mouth twisted and Mitchell warned, "You're not going to hammer anyone. Think of how badly that would reflect on the Avengers initiative."

"Think of how much it would confuse the general public, if two Thors were seen battling in the street," Coulson emphasized. 

"You don't want to break the Internet, do you?" Mitchell needled gently, trying to make Thor smile. 

"Not the Internet, no," Thor replied grimly, but then relented: "I have no intention of-- "

Before he could finish his sentence, from somewhere in Thor's armour came a voice singing, 

_"Saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's_   
_And his hair was perfect-- "_

"Tony's been messing with your ringtones again?" Mitchell asked, as Thor retrieved his cell phone.

"Possibly Clint," Thor replied, and pressed the talk button. "Hello George."

A small, tinny voice could be heard from the other end of the line: "Hi Thor. We thought we'd better let you know-- " There was a pause, and then another rush of words: "We think Doom's up here in the Highlands somewhere and, um, Loki-- your Loki, I mean-- he's back in Bristol."

"Loki is _what?"_ Thor demanded, voice sharp with surprise. And then his expression became resigned. "Of course he is."

Coulson and Mitchell exchanged a look, and Mitchell made a face. 

"Tell George I'm heading straight back to Bristol," he told Thor. "As quick as I can."

"I'll arrange transport for you both," Coulson said, aside.

"Thanks," Mitchell murmured. 

"Something fast," Coulson added wryly.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** For much of this chapter, I am in debt to Geoffrey Wellum's wonderful book, **First Light.** If you have any interest in World War II memoirs, I can't express how much I recommend it!
> 
> In the real world, no one has flown out of the former RAF Castletown since a Sikorsky Hoverfly helicopter dropped in back in 1945, just before the airfield closed down. The site is now part of a farm (although you can still see the runways and some artifacts.) In H!verse, we'll say things turned out a little differently.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Not really a warning except for self-indulgence (too late!), but this chapter is pretty much all Natasha, and was inspired by my recent reading material. Incidentally, Natasha may seem OOC in this chapter, but Natasha is a pilot and, while the Tesseract may affect everyone differently, there is a power in this chapter that affects nearly all pilots in exactly the same way. 
> 
> Also-- Tony's Scottish house is in the Highlands, near Thurso. I have done enough research to know where to find the railway station and the Catholic church, and where Thurso lies relative to the two airfields discussed in this chapter. Alas, I'm handwaving much of the local geography, just assuming it's possible for Natasha to fly quite quickly from the flat area of Caithness into something more mountainous.

The sofas in the formal living room were hard, and the upholstery slippery, so they were not a comfortable place for a nap. George grumbled so much about them that Loki didn't have to, and Annie and Nina agreed to the suggestion they retreat to the television room. Loki expressed no opinion on the matter, but a slight lessening of tension in his shoulders suggested there was, perhaps, a second room in the house he was beginning to consider a safe place.

Annie made a quick side trip to the study and retrieved paper and a pen. It wasn't clear what she intended to do with these, but perhaps she could make a list. Of something.

Loki actually went so far as to stretch out on one of the sofas, the one next to Annie's chair, and when the little cats came hurrying into the room and climbed up on him, he made no attempt to dislodge them. Nina started out by pacing the room like a very small tiger in a very small cage, but when George held out his hand she went to sit with him on a squashy loveseat. 

"What did they mean by _Doom's allies?"_ Nina asked, her expression puzzled. She turned to George in surprise when he flinched violently. 

Before anyone had to decide how to respond, Steve appeared in the doorway.

"Natasha's going to call in if she finds anything on that aerial recce, so Bruce and I will be upstairs in the security room monitoring the radio. George, you know where that is, right?" George agreed, and Steve nodded as he retreated down the hallway to the stairs. 

"Carrot," said Loki, still flattened out on the sofa. 

"Pardon?" asked George. 

"Earlier I was trying to think who he made me think of," Loki replied as he stared at the ceiling. "Carrot, from the book. _Men At Arms._ One would think a creature so honourable-- and so bulged with muscle-- would remind me of Thor, and so he does, in the other realm, but-- I think this one reminds me of Carrot."

"Carrot," repeated Annie, frowning in confusion. 

"He's a Watchman-- a policeman, you know-- in the Discworld books. Huge and muscular and honourable and--in spite of corruption all around him-- very decent," George explained. Glancing at Loki, he added, "And probably a whole lot smarter than he lets on."

"I shall endeavor to remember that," Loki replied rather waspishly. 

There was a pause. Loki closed his eyes and set his jaw, and the others tried not to wonder whether this time he really was thinking of Thor. 

After a moment, George tried a peace offering.

"If Steve is Carrot, who do you suppose is Nobby?" he wondered aloud, referring to another Watchman character; a humourously dishonest creature so misshapen he was said to have to carry a special certificate asserting he was human. 

"That's unkind," giggled Nina, who apparently knew the stories. Annie, who did not, offered a confused shrug.

"Stark," said Loki, without opening his eyes. George and Nina broke into startled giggles that turned into genuine laughter as they pictured Tony in the role. Annie, who was not a fan of the books and so had no idea what they were laughing at, shook her head in amusement at her friends. 

When she looked back at Loki, his eyes were open and he was looking at George and Nina. There was a faint smile-- not a smirk, a small but genuine smile-- curling the corners of his lips. 

Annie, as she turned back to her list, wore a smile of her own. 

~oOo~

"Isn't Wick Airport somewhere down the A9?" Natasha asked mildly, as Tony turned the Range Rover east along the secondary road. 

"We're not going to Wick airport," Tony replied cheerfully. "We're going to the former RAF Castletown, which was built in 1940 as a satellite to RAF Wick-- the airport, which was requisitioned by the Air Force during the war." Natasha nodded her understanding and Tony went on, "It was an operational station of 13 Group throughout the Battle of Britain-- protected Scapa Flow, among other things-- and then was an air-sea rescue base until the end of the war. Nowadays there's a lot of farming around the airport, but two of the runways and a couple of buildings are still serviceable. There's a little flying club based there."

"Which your friends belong to," Natasha prompted, as a hint to move the story along. Ordinarily Natasha didn't hint unless there was a specific tactical reason (for instance, when she was pretending to be someone else entirely, someone who _would_ hint) but there was little urgency to get the facts until they were closer to their destination. 

Tony obligingly got on with it. 

"My father's friends, actually, although they've always been nice enough to me. I don't think they fly much anymore themselves, but they've still got a plane and when I called they were happy for you to take it up." 

"Nice," Natasha agreed, and then Tony was turning into a lane, marked by a sign that read _CASTLETOWN FLYING CLUB._

It definitely was surrounded by farms-- with the window rolled halfway down Natasha could smell cows, and somewhere in the distance she heard the bleating of an atmospheric sheep. There were a couple of light planes-- a Piper Cherokee and what looked like a Cessna 172-- in the circuit as Tony parked the Rover next to a shabby little building that might have been an original World War II dispersal hut. Natasha opened the passenger door and stepped out of the Rover. Tony tapped out one sharp blast on the car horn, then followed Natasha. 

The door to the little building opened.

"Well, if it isn't young Tony," said a cheery Scottish voice, and two figures emerged from the building. 

"Hi Sandy," Tony called. "Natasha, I'd like you to meet Sandy and Leo, who were old friends of my father."

"Hello," Natasha said, with a slightly warmer smile than usual. Stupid of her, but she hadn't realized that Howard's "old friends" were in fact _old_ friends, which is to say, _wartime_ friends. Sandy was short and wiry, Leo a little taller and rather stooping. Both men were silver foxes of at least ninety, and as she shook hands Natasha had one of those moments when her mind tried automatically to picture what Steve would have looked like by now, without the serum or the ice. 

It was a fool's errand, of course, since Natasha lacked the imagination to picture Steve minus the serum's effects. Or, rather, her imagination was strictly adapted to deal with mission-specific contingencies, leaving little left over for flights of fancy. 

Ordinarily. As she followed Tony and the two old gentlemen toward the one metal hangar, Natasha had the strangest sensation of the airfield itself trying to speak to her. 

Loki, she knew, could often tap into the magic of a given place, could sometimes control or at least conduct it. One of the more bizarre incidents during the Hydra/Dire Wraith battles the previous August had involved a squadron of Hydra-controlled fighter jets launching an attack on the British Parliament and then-- if the extensive amateur video evidence was to be believed-- mysteriously blowing up, one after the other, while maneuvering as if under invisible attack.

Even weirder were the voices on the cell phone videos, bystanders shouting things like, "He's got him, the Hurricane's got him" or "Dad, look out there, it's the _Hood"_ while the amateur videographers persistently pointed their cameras at blank patches of sky or the calm surface of the Thames. With Loki involved she was able to believe in the hundreds of earnest eyewitness accounts of ghostly defenders on the river and in the sky, but her sorcerer comrade insisted that he had not deliberately conjured them, and his friends confirmed that his strongest interest in reading about the specifics of British air and sea power dated from _after_ the incident.

Natasha had never until recently imagined a place could be alive, but she was far too practical to deny something when it was right in front of her. She therefore accepted that whatever Loki had got hold of-- or vice versa-- had some sort of mind or memory of its own. Her early life had worked against her developing much sentiment about the land of her birth, but she did sometimes wonder what would happen if Loki ever found himself in St. Petersburg. Because she liked Loki about as well as she liked any of her professional acquaintances, she found herself hoping it would never become necessary to find out. 

In the meantime, there was something in this quiet place with its innocent little aircraft, and even Natasha could feel it. 

"How did you get to know Howard?" she asked now. 

Leo laughed. "Drinking in London," he admitted. His accent wasn't Scottish, in fact it sounded a lot like George's. "He called it gathering intelligence, of course. Whatever use a lot of drunken pilots might be for that."

"Precious little intelligence involved even when we were sober," Sandy added. As Natasha continued to look interested he went on, "Ran into him again after the war, when he bought the place near Thurso. My sister had married Leo by then and when they came to Scotland to live we'd all see a bit of Howard sometimes."

"And his family," said Leo, nodding to Tony, who smiled faintly. Well, he'd apparently had better luck with these friends of his father than he had with... certain others. Leo went on, "And of course we're pleased to help with your little problem now. We've a lovely little aircraft to lend you."

"A perfect lady's aeroplane," added Sandy, with a twinkle. Natasha swallowed that bit of elderly sexism, reminding herself she would definitely be sent to prison-- probably Wormwood Scrubs, which with a name like that _had_ to be terrible-- if she punched out a member of the Few. The old men seemed to know what she was thinking, because Leo flashed her a mischievous smile that, just for a second, dropped seventy years from his age and made her think of Loki's friend Mitchell. 

And in the back of her mind, in fact, she could see Mitchell as if he was standing here-- a Mitchell whose hair was clipped off short like George's and was carrying a parachute slung over his shoulder. Only a small effort of imagination put George beside him, in blue Air Force uniforms with wings on the breast. Nobody would call Natasha kind, but some impulse made her insert Loki, similarly uniformed and with a non-regulation haircut, between the two of them. 

While she was at it, she also pictured Annie in the uniform of the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, her face solemn as she studied a table covered in maps and wooden markers, shifting them with a croupier's rake to show where air activity was taking place. 

Right. Time to rein that in, because they had reached the hangar and whatever kind of aircraft these two old codgers thought was suitable to be flown by a woman. Natasha-- who was rated to fly multi-engine jets off the helicarrier-- was betting on a 172. 

Tony and a passing club member jumped to man the rolling hangar doors as Natasha reminded herself that whatever they offered was better than nothing, and certainly better than potentially calling Doom's attention to them with a QuinJet-- or Iron Man.

And then the doors parted and Natasha found herself, for the first time in many years and without even drinking anything, doing an actual spit-take. 

A Spitfire-take, as it were.

Sitting there in the hangar, slung back on her-- always _her--_ tailwheel, with her long nose reaching toward the sky, graceful pointed wings outspread as if impatient with the ground...

Well, she had been described as the modern equivalent of Excalibur. It was suddenly obvious where the swirl of magic and memory had its focus.

"Wow," Natasha said quietly, coming to a halt a few paces from the aircraft, where she could take a good look. After a moment she turned to the two smiling old gents. _"Perfect lady's aeroplane?"_

"That's what the girls in the Air Transport Auxiliary called them," Leo said smugly. He looked over at Tony and the club member and called, "Can you chaps give us a hand pushing her out onto the flight line?" The club member responded with alacrity, and Tony was right behind him. It crossed Natasha's mind to tease Tony about getting his hands on yet another beautiful female... and then she considered Leo and Sandy were his dad's friends, and she didn't. 

However, when the Spitfire was on the tarmac in front of the hangar and Tony had stepped up to peer into the cockpit, Natasha did find herself wrestling down the urge to throw him to the ground and step over his prostrate body to get at the controls. 

She didn't, of course. She conducted herself like a perfect damned lady as she accompanied the Spitfire's two elderly owners on the preflight walkaround, listening to all the tidbits of wisdom they offered. Which, despite the number of flying hours in her logbooks, were still welcome: every aircraft handled differently and the Spitfire being a single-seater, pilot notes were all she'd have to go by.

Sandy patted the old aircraft with obvious affection. "There aren't many Mark I's left in flying condition. This old darling was operational from the summer of 1940 until the spring of '41."

 _Operational._ And wasn't that just British as all hell, to refer to combat flying under desperate conditions as simply _operational._

"Once we start the engine you'll want to get airborne as soon as possible," Leo counselled. "The Merlin doesn't like to sit on the ground and is prone to overheating."

"The prop rotation tends to pull her to the left on taxi and takeoff, so you'll need to apply right rudder and a little right aileron to keep her straight on the roll," Sandy added. 

Leo: "And you'll need to weave with your rudder on the way to the runway-- that long nose makes it impossible to see where you're going otherwise. And do be careful with the brakes except at very low speeds-- she's nose-heavy on the ground and you don't want to groundloop onto the propeller."

Sandy: "The guns, unfortunately, are not serviceable-- keep that in mind if you run into bandits. We always used to say you should never fly straight and level for more than twenty seconds in combat." Once again, his quick grin reminded her of Mitchell.

"I'll keep that in mind," Natasha murmured, running her fingertips along the leading edge of the left wing and admiring the slight twist as you looked along it. The engineering reason for this "washout" was to cause the wing to stall first at the root, which served as a handy early warning for the pilot, rather than having the aircraft abruptly stall in a steep turn and then whip into a spin. If she remembered correctly, pilots of Sandy and Leo's era would have trained in the North American Harvard, which had a reputation for that kind of bad behaviour.

"She'll warn you before she stalls," Sandy commented as he noticed the focus of her attention. "You can hold her at the shudder point for a surprisingly long time, if you're alert. Very handy, if you've got something on your tail that can't turn inside you. Here, you might like to look over the pilots' notes for the startup procedures." Natasha accepted the yellowed booklet and the others let her spend a few minutes studying it. Finally, she looked up.

"Let's go," she said, trying to sound cool and unruffled despite the way her heart was starting to hammer. _Get out of the way, old man, this one is mine._ She'd always enjoyed flying, but it had been a long time since she'd been this eager to get into a particular plane.

The flying club guy, whose name she hadn't even asked, smiled at her as he walked away. She supposed she was hardly the first pilot ever consumed by the lust to fly this specific aircraft. She did, however, retain the common sense to ask, 

"Has he been with the club for a while?"

"Yes," Tony replied. "And... the security clearances for members here are, shall we say, higher than average."

"Ah," said Natasha, as Leo tipped her a wink. 

She climbed into the snug little cockpit-- the old joke was, you didn't get into a Spitfire, you slipped it on, and in fact this really did feel like the airborne equivalent of a little black dress. Okay. Adjust Tony's little snooper device, which was strapped to her leg just above her right knee. Now, pre-takeoff procedures. Oxygen mask. Instrument panel-- considerably simpler than the modern jets she was used to, just the basics: compass, altimeter, attitude and airspeed indicators. Throttle, ignition, landing gear... 

Okay. Startup procedures... Fuel cock levers ON, throttle open a little, fuel mixture full rich, airscrew was constant-speed so no setting adjustment was necessary, radiator shutter open, prime the engine, ignition ON--

"Clear prop," Natasha shouted, and looked around to ensure Tony and the two old fighter boys were out of the way.

"Clear," Leo called back. 

One more shot of primer, press starter button and hold it down--

There was a cough and a ragged rumble from out there down the nose, spouts of flame from the exhaust as the propeller slowly began to turn, hesitation as the old Merlin cleared its throat--

And then the engine caught solidly and the stuttering growl turned into a husky contralto hum. Leo waved her onto the taxiway and Natasha keyed the radio to notify local air traffic around the uncontrolled field that she was on the move. That done, she switched on the Avengers communicator so Tony could talk to her privately. 

And yes, she could not see a single damned thing in front of her, so she used the rudder to yaw the aircraft as she taxied, peering out the side of the canopy and very much aware of the engine temperature. Below 100 was the safe zone, still some room to play with--

All other traffic on the little aerodrome paused _(paying their respects as the queen passed by)_ as the Spitfire sashayed toward the triangle of runways. Checking the solid-orange windsock, Natasha chose the active runway, taxied to the button, and turned into the wind. 

Final check, including trim and flaps, throttle open and ease off on the brakes-- they were rolling, engine uttering a full-blown roar with the musical note peculiar to the Merlin, the Spitfire intent on the sky. Wheels rumbling under her, speed increasing-- and then a sudden smoothing-out as the old lady transitioned into her native element and began to climb. 

Natasha adjusted the nut holding the throttle open, switched hands on the control stick, and used the hand-pump to raise the landing gear. A common problem with novice Spit pilots was porpoising on takeoff as they brought the gear up, owing to the tendency for both hands to move together. Natasha could hold a knife to someone's throat while rifling a desk with the other, so that wasn't much of an issue for her.

Most of Natasha's hours in recent years had been collected on jets, and the Spitfire certainly didn't provide the kick in the ass you got with those. However, the tradeoff with a heavy, stubby-winged jet was the constant awareness of how much depended on the engine. Even the QuinJet-- Natasha flew regular emergency procedures check rides in it, both on her own behalf and recertifying other pilots, and she was always aware that without the engine that aircraft had all the flight characteristics of a loaf of bread. 

Not this lady.

The thing about more primitive, piston-driven aircraft was, you _knew_ you were flying. Some of them more than others. Natasha looked around for other aircraft, then eased the stick back and to the left, coordinating with rudder as they turned toward the west. The old aircraft reacted as if reading the turn of her head, as if they were one organism, pushing her back into her seat as it rolled into a smooth bank. Natasha felt out the controls, rolling the wings back and forth while maintaining the same heading. The Spitfire obeyed, a series of sinuous movements, followed by a steep 360-degree turn to the right. Far below her, Scotland was green and gray and beautiful.

The temptation to try out some aerobatics was like an itch in her fingers, but now wasn't the time. Instead, she leveled her wings and eased back the stick. The Spitfire did not exactly climb like a homesick angel, to use an expression Natasha had picked up from an American flying instructor, but there was a sense of purpose as the altimeter needles wound around their dial. 

"Natasha?" Tony's voice in her ear. "Can you give us your heading and altitude?"

"Passing through angels five," Natasha replied, and reported her heading. 

"Snooper working?" 

Natasha glanced down. The device was active, a little red light flashing softly in the shadows of the cockpit. 

"Affirmative," she replied. "No joy yet. Heading toward high country." 

"Stay in contact."

"Wilco. Out." 

There was a snort of laughter from Tony on the other end, and the comm went quiet. Natasha almost regretted it, because up ahead were the misty mountains, looking as if they were waiting to be traversed by dwarfs and hobbits. And orcs.

There was no guarantee these mountains were the same ones Loki had seen in his vision, or even if Doom was there-- Loki could have traveled a considerable psychic distance from Doom's lair before he was able to look around. Still, it was a place to start, and he'd identified this range as looking similar to the one he'd seen. 

As she approached the high country Natasha let down a few hundred feet, needing to give the snooper a chance but still wary of the possibility of wind variations within the mountains. An experienced glider pilot as well, she was familiar with ridge soaring-- that is, taking advantage of rising currents of air caused by the winds blowing into the face of a mountain. She was also familiar with the hazards of sink caused by those same winds blowing over the crest of the mountain and trickling down the other side, potentially taking small aircraft with them. She certainly didn't want to end this mission-- _operation--_ by failing to find Doom and breaking _(pranging)_ the Spitfire to boot. 

Apparently she'd judged her distances nicely, because there was little interruption to straight and level flight as she-- _they,_ she and the Spitfire-- growled and sang their way through the cloudy peaks. It wasn't just the Merlin, either-- at some point, to her embarrassment, Natasha heard herself singing, at the very bottom of her vocal range, _"Far over the misty mountains cold, To dungeons deep and caverns old-- "_

Yeah, Thor was definitely never getting to pick the movie again. Thank God she wasn't transmitting right now.

And just at that, the little snooper, like a banjo on her knee, let out a quiet alert beep. 

Natasha glanced down and saw the red flashing light had turned yellow. Even as she keyed the comm to report in, the light went green. 

Tony's snooper wasn't infallible, of course, but it was calibrated to pick up on energy from _any other source--_ not electromagnetic, nuclear, or whatever. He hadn't devised it specifically to locate magic, although certainly it was something he'd started playing around with since meeting Loki. Right now, in these mountains, the idea was that _any_ kind of power spike was worth investigating, even if it just turned out to be a hydro station rather than a Hydra one. 

There was no sign of a power station, or any other reasonable explanation for this by-now significant power surge. Natasha rolled the Spitfire into a gloriously smooth, diving turn. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of something-- down there in the foothills, where forests grew. Holding one wing low so as to get a better look, she made another pass and concluded she was seeing a roofline. The snooper was now holding steady at a deep, vibrant green. 

Communicator on. "Tony? I think I've got something-- "

Rising from the roofline, two tiny shapes getting bigger and closing fast, roughly human-shaped but not Iron Man-- 

"I've been spotted-- " Natasha began, and then, at the thought of Leo and Sandy listening with Tony, corrected herself: "Tally-ho."

The two Doombots, because that was what the bandits were, held their fire as they set a converging course to intercept her. Then a red flash-- not simply curious, then. With a regretful thought for the eight Browning machine guns she should have had at her disposal, Natasha waited until what she judged was the last second before flicking into a hard roll to the left.

The Doombots, like Tony's suits, were impressive feats of engineering, but the human form is not an especially aerodynamic shape. Unable to adjust direction quickly enough, the two bots went right past Natasha, then bent their backs and angled themselves to loop back down after her. 

By the time they did, of course, Natasha was already climbing again, the fighter pilot's instinct to come at the enemy from out of the sun strong in her. Of course, since Doombots weren't alive it was unlikely they would be blinded by the sun, but if she was above them _she_ wouldn't be, either. 

_...never fly straight and level for more than twenty seconds in combat._

Pull back hard, G-loading pressing her back into the seat. Quick one-handed yank to tighten straps, both hands back on the stick, pull her over the top-- _should have practiced aerobatics after all--_ and roll coming out of it. Merlin snarling as she dove again, weaving hard as the Doombots tried to catch up. They might even be faster than she was, but she could turn inside them. _Twenty seconds._ She was probably flying level for less than ten seconds at a time, hopefully not in a pattern that permitted a deflection shot--

Quick glance over her shoulder, Doombots trying to converge again, flick the Spitfire over on her back and into a corkscrewing dive. Altimeter unwinding rapidly, Scotland filling the windscreen, ridiculous mental flash of Harry Potter diving after the Golden Snitch, was that howl the engine or the wings? Shudder as the wing root stalled, hold it on the shudder, they can't turn inside you--

Pull out practically on the deck, still weaving, bright flash of a Doombot exploding as it hit the ground just off her left wingtip. Where was the other bastard? Hold her steady, hands independent of head-- this was _not_ the time for sympathetic movements-- turn to catch a glimpse of the remaining Doombot breaking off pursuit and heading back to base. Must have a pre-set range: maybe anything that blundered into within a certain distance of Doom's hideout would get clobbered. Better warn Castletown FC about that. 

Check fuel-- plenty to get home on, but she'd used up a lot in the last few minutes. Adjust throttle, fuel mixture. 

Communicator on.

"Tony, I'm on my way back to base," she reported. 

"Did you find Doom's lair?"

Natasha let out a rather breathless little chuckle. "You might say that."


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** This is a short and quite narrowly focused chapter-- I'm currently in the throes of moving house so my concentration is shot (So! Many! Boxes!) and between that and Christmas I figure if I don't finish the short chapter now, it may be quite a while before I manage a full-length one!
> 
> **Warnings:** None needed.

As he drove toward the airport, Loki kept his mind sternly upon the task at hand. It would benefit no one if he involved them in an accident. Clint gave no sign of concern regarding how Loki handled the little car, which was some relief even if he was only pretending. 

It was an even greater relief to reach the car park connected to the hotel, assume the glamour once again, and make their way to the room occupied by the three vampires. It would be courteous to knock, but Loki did not feel at all courteous at the moment. He pushed a little magic through the door's locking mechanism and shoved it unceremoniously open. 

"What the-- ?" Daisy whirled toward the door, snarling, and had taken a step forward when Loki applied the same forceful magic to her. he abruptly stumbled backward and sat down on the edge of the unoccupied bed. 

Loki should have regretted his ungentlemanly conduct, but somehow he could not bring himself to do so. His badly frayed nerves were beginning to demand an outlet, and the fact Daisy was herself a predator rather mitigated his sense of shame. 

"My name is Loki Odinson," he addressed her, his voice dropping to the bottom of its already quite deep register. He knew from experience, from days long past, that the tone sounded threatening. Daisy's eyes narrowed, and Loki went on, "I believe we have not met." He flicked a glance at the other, cringing, occupant of the room and bared his teeth. "Oh, hello Geoff. How nice to see you again."

"You know this one?" Clint asked neutrally, dropping without hesitation into the role of adjutant.

"Yes," Loki replied, without taking his eyes off the vampire. "Some time ago he was part of a group that abducted my friends George, and Mitchell, and Jane Foster. We met when I went to… remonstrate with them." 

"I see," Clint murmured, turning thoughtfully to Geoff. The spotty-faced vampire looked scared and defiant-- and then relieved, when Loki turned away from him. 

Having, he hoped, emphasized that he really was not to be trifled with, Loki addressed Daisy once again.

"Clint informs me that you are in need of assistance," he said formally. 

Daisy glared, but when Loki declined to conciliate, she merely gestured toward the still figure on the bed. Loki stepped forward to have a look.

At which-- if only for a moment-- he suddenly did feel rather sorry for Daisy after all. Vampires were capable of ordinary sleep-- Hammer Films representations notwithstanding, Mitchell obviously did not swoon (or burst into flames) when the sun rose. Loki had seen his friend sleep any number of times, and except for the fact he did not breathe, Mitchell asleep looked much like anyone else: eyes closed, mouth slightly open, face relaxed and peaceful.

Ivan, sprawled on his back and half-covered with a blanket, did not look peaceful. With his glazed eyes half-open, his complexion grey, and his expression void of personality, he looked uncompromisingly dead. It was little wonder Daisy was upset. 

Loki drew closer still, leaned down to rest a hand on Ivan's chest. 

Like all supernatural creatures, vampires possessed a certain level of innate magic. The fact Ivan had not turned to dust had rather suggested that whatever spirit or energy animated his kind was still within him. It was apparent, however, that it was somehow trapped by or tangled in this other magic. 

It took rather more effort than Loki could comfortably expend, but eventually he was able to identify disparate strands of magic affecting the vampire. Nothing stood out as a signature identifying Dr. Doom, which was a matter of some concern to Loki: having himself been influenced by the sorcerer, he would ordinarily be able to recognize the other's work when next he encountered it. The only explanation Loki could think of was that, his magic having been so thoroughly meddled with during his time in the other reality, it must have lost its memory of Doom's specific powers. 

The thought of being deprived of this small tactical advantage by the actions of those other Avengers had him clenching his teeth in anger and frustration. However, Clint had made covenants with these vampires, and Ivan was needed, and there was no time for Loki to whine about his troubles. 

Fortunately, Loki had considerable experience-- though little of it recent-- in working magic while in a state of angry frustration. The childish sense of injustice suffered could be sublimated, it merely took concentration.

The business of recognizing Doom's magic, however-- 

Loki removed his hand from Ivan's chest, turned, and addressed Geoff:

"You. Come here." Neither vampire happened to be looking at Barton when Loki spoke, which was as well: the man's expression of surprise showed for only a split-second, but the predatory vampires would have spotted it as a weakness. The human was hardly to be blamed: the face Loki presented to Midgard was very different from the hard, imperious one that had served him for so long in Asgard. Barton had probably expected the flash of sympathy that had weakened Loki a moment ago, had counted on it, had--

_Clint was not his enemy._

Loki's lips tightened. Clint-- _Clint,_ and _not Barton_ \-- had _asked_ for his help, had not demanded or, or threatened. Clint was someone Loki could trust _(he could, he could)_ and they were working _together._

They were working together, and it was of the greatest importance to revive Ivan. Which Loki could only do by unraveling the threads of Doom's magic from that of Ivan. At the moment-- better if he did not think again of the reasons-- Loki could not tell the two apart.

And that was where Daisy and Geoff came in.

"What do you want?" Geoff asked, understandably nervous. Daisy glared, and Geoff tried to protest-- "I just asked-- "

Loki uttered a wordless, guttural noise that effectively silenced the vampire's nervous babbling-- _it had always worked on him_ \-- snapped his fingers, and gestured sharply. 

Geoff froze, Daisy glared, and Clint obviously realized his role was to be Good Cop (given his lengthy association with Natasha Romanov, surely it was one he was used to) because he spoke up:

"How about you just explain what you need from him first?"

Loki gave an impression of thinking that over. Had he been dealing with nearly any other species in the Nine-- well, perhaps not Dire Wraiths-- that was exactly what Loki would have done in the first place. However, Daisy and Geoff were vampires, and he was proposing to raise a third of their number, here in a room with a human. Quite apart from his ignoble desire to vent his own hateful feelings upon someone, Loki had a very strong feeling that kindness on his part would be interpreted as a sign of weakness, and _that_ would lead to a great deal of trouble. He could not countenance any threat to Clint, and if Ivan was to be useful-- _helpful_ \-- to their cause, Loki could hardly stake him or his friends. 

It was therefore necessary to create and maintain the impression that Loki himself was powerful and autocratic, someone with whom the hierarchical vampires would not be tempted to trifle. Mercy was for creatures capable of appreciating it, at least for the moment. 

Loki chose not to reflect on the irony of himself, of all creatures, presuming to decide who was deserving. 

"I can sense magic within him," Loki said shortly, sternly resisting the urge to offer a more fulsome explanation. "Some of it belongs to him-- "

_"Magic?"_ Geoff demanded. 

"He is a supernatural creature, is he not?" Loki replied testily. 

_"Power,"_ Daisy corrected. Loki allowed his lip to curl as he considered her. 

"As you prefer," he said dismissively. "At the moment my most pressing interest is to compare the… _power_ … in each of you to that within Ivan. This should enable me to determine what belongs to Doom, and to detach it from him."

"How do you know our powers are the same?" Daisy demanded. Her suspicions were understandable but, once again, Loki found himself with little patience for them. 

"I do not," he replied. "But if human science can test blood or genetic material and determine what species it belongs to, then perhaps you can see how a sorcerer might investigate particular types of magic and find commonalities between similar supernatural creatures."

Daisy bit her lower lip, considered, and then finally said, 

"What do you need to do?"

Loki smiled-- he was aware it was a most unpleasant smile, but he chose to do nothing to moderate it. "It is as the Beatles tell us," he replied. "I want to hold your hand."

Afterward, Loki was able to give credit to both vampires for courage, considering they probably feared he meant to drag their life force out through their fingertips. He had neither the ability nor the inclination to do anything of the sort. Instead, he performed a sort of scan, pinpointing the dark and oddly… _sludgy_ … magic that animated the vampires. It felt the same in both. 

He was at the moment hardly in a condition to feel confident of his memory, but he was persuaded that Mitchell felt different from these two. Not, of course, that he was in the habit of covertly scanning the magic of his friends without asking leave. But they lived in the same house, and sometimes, when sleep was elusive, Loki soothed himself by reaching out with his sorcery, reminding himself that he was not alone, that his friends were nearby. 

Whatever animating spirit he brushed against when he encountered Mitchell, it was not like this. Not quite. These two felt more powerful, but it was a dangerous, uneasy sort of power. Loki could only think it must be the effects of Mitchell being "on the wagon," as he put it. 

Ivan, when Loki returned to him, was fairly polluted with the dark magic, oozing like treacle. Had he not investigated the other vampires, Loki probably would have taken that magic for Doom's contribution. Enlightened, he now performed the magical equivalent of rummaging inside a deep sack, feeling as if with his fingertips for the alien magic afflicting Ivan. 

Now that he had a reference point, identifying Doom's magic was not terribly difficult, like finding a square block in a bag full of marbles. The trouble began with the next step: working the strands apart. Now the process became very much like attempting to unpick threads of a single colour from a woven garment, without disturbing the rest of the cloth. Loki was very much aware that the sludgy magic was necessary for Ivan to remain alive, and it was not inherent, like the life force of a mortal creature. Both kinds of magic were in effect alien to him, and that meant both could be detached if Loki was careless. A mistake here could be fatal. The problem was compounded by the fact that both kinds of magic felt… sticky, as though each adhered to the other. It was clear that, whatever Doom had in mind for Ivan, this enchantment was not intended to be easy to lift. 

Loki soon found himself with a headache, and a parching need for a cup of tea-- although of course what he really wanted was for Annie to be on hand, offering to _make_ the tea.

But Annie was far away, in Scotland, with the other Loki who needed her more, and--

\-- And he needed to return his mind to the task at hand before he made a disastrous mistake. Compressing his lips and focusing on the magic that sparked green from his fingertips, Loki called upon every scrap of patience he possessed. He had no idea how long he worked, and it was fortunate neither Daisy nor Geoff offered any threat to Clint in the meantime, because Loki would have been quite unable to counter it. 

Luckily, Daisy was completely taken up with what was happening to Ivan, and Geoff still seemed wary of attracting Loki's displeasure. Therefore, nothing… _untoward_ … happened. Somewhere far away Loki was aware of another inconvenient curl of sympathy toward Daisy, and even cowardly Geoff, underneath his exhaustion and anger. Quashing it was too much trouble, so he let it alone. 

He was perspiring freely and his head ached by the time-- with an odd sensation rather like the feeling of a cork popping free in his hands-- the alien magic suddenly let go. 

Ivan blinked, and sluggishly stirred. Daisy flew across the room to his side and Loki, as soon as he was certain his task was completed, stepped back to give her space. 

"Ivan? Are you all right?" There was, for just a moment, a break in the humming predatory tension that animated her as much as the magic. The tension came back when Ivan at first simply looked at her with no change in his dull expression, but before the situation became critical his eyes focused. 

"Daisy," he said thickly. A moment later his face was lit by a smile that would not have looked out of place on, on Thor. Thor when he looked at Jane. He still looked confused, but was apparently in no doubt about that which was important. 

Truly, had Loki been in any frame of mind to indulge in sentimentality, this would have provided him with a wonderful opportunity. 

Fortunately, before he could become engulfed, Ivan rubbed his head and remarked, "I could really use a drink right now." As he spoke, the eyes of all three vampires turned toward Clint, who raised his eyebrows but forbore from reminding Daisy that, until a moment ago, they had been allies. 

Loki, for his part, was reminded of a conversation he had once had with Mitchell, an endless time ago, regarding what constituted entertainment for vampires. Befriending humans for the purpose of enjoying their betrayal when the time came to kill them was apparently a popular sport. 

Well, Mitchell always did say that vampires were arseholes. 

Fortunately, Loki was well qualified in that area, himself. 

"The human is under my protection," he announced, once again taking up the bottom of his vocal register. "And should any of you feel the desire to test my forbearance, I think it only fair to inform you that I have had rather a trying week, and my patience is nearly at an end. Furthermore, Agent Barton is in fact one of the Avengers, so unless you wish to declare war upon them with immediate effect-- " Loki allowed his words to trail off suggestively. 

Ivan still looked rather befuddled, but he had the sense to recognize the better part of valour. At this point, Loki noticed that one corner of the room contained a table, upon which stood several implements that someone more religious than Loki might consider the answer to his prayers.

"Geoff," he said sharply. 

The young vampire flinched. "Yes?" 

With an imperious gesture he thought had been scrubbed out of him in the void, Loki commanded, "Go and make us some tea."

"Tea?" said Daisy. 

"It will do you good," Loki replied, in an "if you know what is good for you" tone. 

Ivan sighed, and conceded. "Better than nothing, I suppose."

_Better than a stake to the heart,_ Loki agreed, but only inside his head, as Geoff busied himself with a small electric kettle, two mugs, and two tumblers from the bathroom.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _In the last chapter I referenced Loki's speaking voice when he's being, as it were, the Bad Cop. In case you're having trouble imagining it, you may refer to the (tragically banned) ad for the Jaguar F-type, if you can find the video anywhere._
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, Being Human canon is unspecific on the details of its vampire mythology (most of the time references are sidelong ones between characters who already know how things work) so for purposes of this chapter I've made up some of my own details._
> 
>  
> 
> _**Warnings:** I apologize to the Bristol police for certain comments in this chapter. They are pure  Being Human canon._

The alert that sounded in the laboratory had its echo all through Doom's lodge, and brought Wyndham hurrying along to investigate. 

"What is happening?" the vampire demanded, for once looking unnerved. Doom's expression was of course concealed behind his mask, but he did not trouble to hide the complacency in his bearing as he turned toward his supposed confederate. It should once again be clear who was superior in this alliance.

"My guards have intercepted an intruder," Doom replied briefly, gesturing toward the screen that displayed the view from the two airborne Doombots. 

"Is it the Avengers?" Wyndham demanded. For all his bluster, Doom was gratified to note, the vampire seemed worried at the prospect.

"No," replied Doom, who had already observed the intruder through the Doombots' surveillance cameras. "It appears to be a craft from the local flying club." He paused, considering. "Although… ordinarily they do not venture toward these mountains, where the wind currents are treacherous for small aircraft."

"Wind currents don't appear to be affecting that one," Wyndham remarked unnecessarily, as the graceful little aircraft took sharp evasive action and the Doombots overshot it again. He seemed to have recovered his poise as he added, "A rather proficient pilot, I would say." 

Doom leaned forward, peering at the screen. The aircraft was one he had seen before. It had always stayed at a great enough distance not to cause the perimeter guards to take much notice, but the silhouette-- the shape of the wing-- was unmistakable. 

"And a remarkable aircraft," Doom noted, as one of the screens went abruptly dark and Wyndham flinched. "It really is too much of a coincidence to think this particular aircraft and such a pilot happened to blunder into our range at such a time."

"What do you mean?" asked Wyndham.

"I mean, it is time for our next move," Doom replied coolly. "This is my part, I suggest you consider how you will play yours, for you will be needed very soon."

He turned his back on the vampire and gave his full attention to the Doombot control panel. 

~oOo~

Annie looked up from her pad of paper as Bruce appeared in the doorway of the television room. So far, pen and paper hadn't helped her come up with any good ideas-- any ideas at all, good or otherwise-- so the sheet before her was covered in aimless doodles and the beginning of a grocery list. 

"Bruce?" she said, partly to alert Loki, who was still lying on his back with his eyes closed. He opened them and sat up. He did his best to look unconcerned, but the way he instinctively shifted back into the arm of the sofa was a giveaway if you happened to be paying attention. 

Bruce turned a quick, reassuring smile on Loki-- Annie didn't look around to see how it was received-- and then looked around at Annie and George. 

"We just heard from Tony and Natasha-- they'll be on their way back shortly-- and it turns out Loki was right, Doom's hideout is in the mountains near here. Tony's alerted SHIELD and the helicarrier is on its way to us now."

"Wonderful," Annie exclaimed, dropping her notepad on the floor next to her chair and jumping to her feet. 

"How long is that going to take?" George asked, injecting an unwelcome note of realism into the proceedings. "The helicarrier, I mean. How long will it take to get here?"

Bruce winced. "It's still a few hours out. It's crossing the Atlantic like the _Carpathia_ making for the _Titanic,_ but if Doom makes a move first we're going to have to hold them off until the reinforcements arrive."

"Didn't Loki see a whole army of Doombots?" George persisted. "I mean, do you think you _can_ hold them off?"

Bruce's mouth twisted. "Guess we'll find out." 

"What can we do?" George asked. "To help, I mean. Tony's got that armoury in the basement." Annie and Nina stared at him-- Loki, meanwhile, didn't take his eyes off Bruce-- and George explained awkwardly, "Agent Coulson showed it to me, during the Dire Wraith thing. I think it was a version of one of his labs, back before he was Iron Man."

"That's where you learned to fire a rocket launcher," Nina said, as the penny dropped. 

"Right," George agreed, glancing at her with a nervous smile. "I'm pretty sure I remember how to operate one."

Bruce smiled. "That would be very helpful. The four of you are going to stay back here-- I think Natasha will stick with you-- as the last line of defence."

"Really?" Loki said, his tone dry and tight. 

"Yes," Bruce replied. "We don't expect you to come out and face the Doombots. They're after you in the first place, and you looked pretty wiped out after all those visions and… everything. I don't know how fast your magic replenishes itself but right now you'd be a sitting duck."

Loki's mouth twisted, just for a second, but then he nodded. 

"You can help us with the rocket launcher," George offered nervously. "Probably have a much better aim than I do."

"Certainly better than me," Annie added quickly. 

"Indeed," Loki murmured, looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. This time, the twist to his lips looked a little like a smile.

~oOo~

"Where's the vampire?" Stark asked, when Coulson, alone, joined the Extravengers in the lounge. He looked around and then added, "And Aslan?" 

"Aslan?" Coulson repeated coolly, although he knew perfectly well who Stark was talking about.

"You know," Stark shrugged. "The other Thor. Where did the two of them go?"

"Thor's gone to catch up with the other Avengers, and Mitchell's being taken back to Bristol," Coulson explained. 

Fury, who was standing on the other side of the room where he could look obliquely out the window, nodded thoughtfully. After a moment he asked, in a tone of command that sounded exactly like the real Fury, "What's going on?" 

"Beg pardon?" Coulson responded neutrally, trying not to let the others see his discomfort at interacting with the alternate director. The whole Extravengers business was weird for everyone, but Coulson found himself particularly uneasy about the second Fury. He knew the director-- _his_ director-- very well, functioning the way he did as Fury's right hand. At the moment, the right hand not only didn't know what the left was doing, it also didn't have any idea what the rest of the body might be planning. 

_They're still the good guys,_ Coulson reminded himself, which also felt pretty damned weird-- since when did he have to remind himself that _Steve Rogers_ and _Tony Stark_ were on the side of the angels? 

Of course, generally you didn't count on the angels _thinking it was all right to torture prisoners._ Okay, Stark and Rogers had both seemed appalled when that piece of information had come out. That was no surprise in any universe. What bothered Coulson-- a lot-- was the idea of Fury ordering such a thing. In the first place, the director Coulson knew was a hardass, but not without compassion. The idea of him ordering a prisoner be tortured, particularly justifying it on the grounds the prisoner had obviously broken once already, was more than a little sickening.

In the second place, any idiot knew that torture got you bad intelligence. SHIELD was supposed to be better than that, not in fuzzy moral terms but in _effectiveness._ Mind you, there were plenty of intelligence agencies-- some of them agencies with which SHIELD routinely cooperated-- that either hadn't gotten the memo-- unlikely-- or just didn't want to change their longstanding practices. Coulson took an especial pleasure, when writing up reports to be shared with organizations like that, of highlighting the problems caused by faulty information he suspected had been tortured out of somebody. 

All of which, he reminded himself-- _again_ \-- was irrelevant to the current situation. The other reality was nothing to do with him, and its SHIELD and its Fury weren't either. A part of him still hoped the other Coulson hadn't known about the plans to torture the other Loki.

"It's pretty clear there's something up," other-Fury pointed out now. "What is it?"

The fact Fury had picked up on something wrong was hardly a surprise, he was after all the director in both realities. And neither version of Fury was likely to be easily put off. 

Coulson did a quick mental calculation of the amount of trouble his various options were likely to lead to, and picked one.

"We believe the two Lokis were swapped out by a wizard named Dr. Doom, a supervillain who's given our Avengers-- and a good few other superheroes-- quite a bit of trouble over the years. We think, based on the best intelligence we've been able to gather, that Doom figured your Loki was someone he could use in one of his schemes-- "

"You say my brother is allied with this villain?" OThor demanded, which really should not have been a surprise. Decades of training and experience enable Coulson to keep a lid on his surge of temper. He was definitely getting tired.

"No, actually I didn't say anything of the sort," Coulson replied evenly. "Maybe your brother really is responsible for every bad thing that's ever happened in your reality, but in ours we have a nice assortment of villains and we try to give them all credit when they deserve it."

Thor scowled-- he really did look _thunderous,_ shameful though the pun might be-- and Coulson reflected that, for all his own distrust (and dislike) of the other Avengers, he was still pretty confident Thor wouldn't rip him limb from limb for being a mouthy mortal. So, apparently, his dislike of these Avengers only went so far. 

Didn't stop him from putting the matter as bluntly as he knew how, though:

"As far as we can tell your brother was lying in his cell-- " _waiting to die,_ which he didn't say, because apparently he wasn't _quite_ as blunt all that after all-- "doing… nothing in particular… when the exchange happened. There's no reason to think he had any idea what was going to happen."

"You should understand that my brother is a very talented-- " OThor began, and Coulson pushed his luck again:

"Liar, yes. We've heard that. Our Loki has similar talents, but his friends are pretty good at reading his tells. They think they're getting somewhere with your brother." 

Fortunately, before OThor could express an opinion about the idea of Loki ( _any_ Loki) having friends, Fury spoke up again. 

"What do you know about whatever this Doom guy is planning?"

"No details, yet," Coulson admitted. "But he's moved on Loki twice in the last couple of days and we expect escalation."

"You need our help, we'll help," Fury announced calmly. Everyone stared at him. Fury shrugged. "Kind of what we do."

"Okay," Coulson said shortly. And then, rather reluctantly, "Thanks."

~oOo~

Ivan was very obviously less than thrilled about his tea, but gave in and drank it with relatively good grace. Loki, for his part, tried to neither gulp from his mug nor take more than his fair share of sugar. By the time their first cups of tea were finished, both vampire and sorcerer were rather more able to cope with the world around them. 

Even so, Loki-- who was still catching up with things himself-- was quite grateful to Clint for taking the lead in explaining the situation to Ivan. This naturally made sense, given Clint was the one who had at least a sort of relationship with Daisy and Geoff. Not the sort of relationship that would render it safe for Clint to go out for drinks with the two of them, but all three vampires gave Clint their undivided attention as he related the conversation overheard in the funeral home.

Having Clint do the talking left Loki free to make himself a second cup of tea, commandeer the room's single armchair, and sit glowering at the vampires. This role, as it happened, suited his current mood extremely well.

As Clint finished his story, Ivan and Daisy exchanged worried glances. Geoff, left out of the gesture, looked more apprehensive than ever. 

"So," Clint spoke up, from his position in the chair at the writing desk, "care to give a human the low-down on this Mr. Snow character?" 

Ivan picked up his mug and fiddled with it. "He's an Old One-- "

"Astonishingly, we had already gathered that much," Loki remarked, in his most offensively villainous drawl. Daisy bristled, and Clint made a deprecatory noise Loki pretended to heed. Daisy's look at Clint was at least as much appreciative as hungry, so Loki considered he was having the proper effect. 

Ivan did not trouble himself to take offense. "Right, then. I should say, Mr. Snow is _the_ Old One."

"Does he have another name? Or is his first name Mister?" Clint asked. 

_Rather like Agent Coulson,_ Loki contributed mentally, and then experienced a moment of alarm until his brain provided _Phil_ as the little-used given name.

Ivan shrugged. "Nobody knows. I very much doubt the _Snow_ part was always part of his name, either." Glancing around to be sure he had Loki's attention as well, Ivan went on, "Nobody knows his original name, or where he came from, or how he was converted. I've heard rumours he's over three thousand years old, and I believe them."

Clint leaned forward. _"Three thousand?"_

Ivan rubbed his eyes. "Yes. That fool Wyndham is over a thousand." At Clint's raised eyebrows, Ivan paused for a digression. "You might think of vampires in connection with the nineteenth century-- _Dracula,_ and all that. Our kind has been around for much, much longer. As long as humanity itself.

"We don't age or die of the usual human diseases, which may create the impression we live forever. In practice, though, many candidates don't survive the recruitment process in the first place. And there are those who can't control their new impulses, and if they begin to pose a threat to our concealment they may need to be… put down.

"And a great many more simply get tired-- of secrecy, of the constant hunger, of being alone." Ivan looked directly at Loki, apparently unintimidated by his Bad Cop pose, and added, "Mitchell isn't the first vampire I've known who's tried to go on the wagon. He's one of the very few I'm aware of who's managed to cut ties and find something to replace us with, which is the only reason I can think of that he's lasted as long as he has. Don't take him for granted." 

Loki nodded curtly, cold mask firmly in place, and Ivan went on, 

"In practice, then, most vampires only live for a few decades, perhaps a hundred years. The ones who survive past that get steadily more powerful, and by the time they-- _we_ \-- are a couple of centuries old, we're the _Old Ones."_

"The vampire elite," Clint suggested. 

Ivan shrugged. "If you will. We don't function as anything so organized as a government, but we do enforce secrecy when necessary, and it's true we're more powerful than the general run of vampires."

"Talk to us about your powers," Clint requested. 

Ivan smiled briefly. "All vampires are able to exert a certain level of control over the minds of humans. That's a… predatory adaptation, shall we say, circumventing the instinct to fight or flee. It's a form of hypnotism."

"Like Kaa in _The Jungle Book,"_ Clint said.

"Yes, very much like that," Ivan agreed. "We don't always use it, but the capability is there." Clint declined to ask why a vampire would choose not to use such an ability, which Loki considered fortunate since the answer would almost certainly be _Because it's more fun the other way._ Ivan went on, "What they can't do is exert control over the minds of other vampires. Old Ones can."

"Herrick was an Old One, then?" Loki spoke up. 

Ivan shook his head. "No. Just a bully with a very strong, very… _persuasive_ … personality. He was only about thirty years older than Mitchell, but he was ambitious from the very beginning, and he always had a reckless streak. To be perfectly honest I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. He and Mitchell were a well-matched pair in the old days."

Loki lifted his chin, declining to think of _the old days._ "You were speaking of the Old Ones."

"Yes," Ivan agreed. "As I've said, mind control is a short-range skill with young vampires. As they get older and their powers develop more fully, they can learn to not only plant suggestions in the minds of humans, but also influence other vampires in the same way. Mr. Snow, as I say, is the oldest and most powerful vampire I've ever heard of. I don't know exactly what he's capable of, but nobody wants to go up against him."

"When you say 'plant suggestions,' you mean an Old One would be able to influence a person's behaviour over the long term?" Clint asked. 

"Yes. I assume the suggestion would eventually wear off, but they would simply need to be _visited_ again and the influence re-introduced."

"And that would be Wyndham's role in Doom's scheme, then?" Loki said. 

"I assume so," Ivan agreed. "He and whatever vampires joined him. Unless they're planning to just conduct terror attacks on the humans as a distraction. That would certainly be demoralizing, but it doesn't strike me as very efficient." 

"Indeed," Loki drawled. "Another relevant question is, of course, what _you_ intend to do?"

"And by that I assume you mean the three of us," Ivan replied. Geoff looked surprised, and then gratified to be included. Loki firmly suppressed any rogue shred of fellow-feeling. 

Daisy spoke up immediately: 

"We're getting out of here."

"Daisy," Ivan murmured, and she turned on him with protective ferocity. 

"Do you really think _anyone_ can defeat Mr. Snow?" Glancing resentfully at Loki, she said, "Not even _that one_ could stand up to him."

Loki raised a disdainful eyebrow, but if he were honest-- which in this company could only be folly-- he had to admit the senior vampire sounded a daunting prospect. It was hard to imagine a Midgardian creature being nearly of an age with Loki's own father. 

"None of us can do it alone, Daze," Ivan agreed. "But their lot took down an alien invasion last summer, and Mr. Snow probably knows it. If it looks too dangerous for him to get personally involved, he won't."

"Such valour," Loki sneered-- more because it seemed like the appropriate thing for him to say than because he disagreed with Snow's choice, or wished for him to make a different one.

Ivan actually laughed. "He didn't get to be three thousand years old by pressing his luck." Sobering, he added, "And the rest of us haven't kept our existence a secret by pressing ours-- or by backing the wrong horse." 

"So you're willing to work with us?" Clint asked. 

"Ivan," Daisy protested, in a desperate undertone. Ivan glanced at her and shook his head. 

"Has to be done," he insisted.

"Yes," Geoff spoke up suddenly. "They don't care what happens to the rest of us, the Old Ones. They're so used to doing whatever they want, they won't even think about what might happen to us. Herrick used to talk as if, as if when we rose up the humans would just sit there and let us do whatever we wanted to." Geoff shook his head, a furtive little predator well aware that he might himself provide a meal for something larger, like a weasel surrounded by wolves. 

"We don't have any choice," Ivan said quietly, and Daisy seemed to deflate. 

"What are we going to do, with only two other people on our side?" she argued weakly. 

"I am not at all certain that is true," Loki remarked, dropping the threatening tone for the moment.

"How's that?" Clint asked. 

Loki shrugged. "If I were trying to persuade members of a group to join such a risky enterprise, it is possible I might deliberately approach each of them separately and attempt to convince them that everyone else had already agreed."

"Divide and conquer," Clint said.

"It sounds like something we'd do," Ivan admitted. 

"What about the police?" Loki asked.

"Heavily connected to the vampire hierarchy," Ivan replied. "They've always helped cover for us."

"This is a bit more extreme than your normal activities, isn't it?" Clint said. 

"I think the relevant term is _realpolitik,"_ Ivan said wryly. "Their role is not to create vampire leaders, but to work with the ones who emerge. Mind you, our part of the bargain has always been to ensure our activities are easily explained away. I'm not entirely sure what they would have done with Herrick, if he'd gone much further, or what they'll do about this situation. Pretend to be very active and wait to see what happens, I imagine."

"All right," Clint nodded, apparently drawing a mental line through the idea of assistance from the Bristol authorities. 

"Daisy, do you happen to have my mobile?" Ivan asked. "There are a few people I should contact, and if we're going to be stuck here-- " The words trailed off suggestively. 

Clint nodded. "It's a pretty good bet your safe houses are compromised, since they were intended to hide vampires from humans instead of other vampires." He did not suggest bringing the fugitives home to the pink house, for which Loki was grateful even though his role as Bad Cop gave him an excuse to refuse. Clint went on, "I think it's best if you sit tight until Loki and I have a chance to catch up with the rest of the Avengers. Keep a low profile-- and by that I mean don't kill anybody." The vampires' expressions were not encouraging, but Clint chose not to make an issue of the fact. "Loki?"

Loki pushed aside his mug and rose to his feet. It really was as well the meeting would run no longer: he was beginning to feel the effects of all that tea. In a few minutes it would have been necessary for him to ask Clint to accompany him to the lavatory, there being no power that could persuade him to leave his human colleague alone with the vampires for even a moment.

As they walked down the hallway, Clint held out his hand. 

"Probably best if I drive us home," he said, in a neutral tone that reminded Loki painfully of Agent Coulson. "You're apt to be feeling a little light-headed." Clint was hardly a close friend of Loki's, but he was exceptionally observant. This was not the first time the agent had noticed the small physical signs that indicated excessive use of magic. 

Loki tried very hard not to feel threatened as he relinquished the car keys. 

As they drove back toward Bristol, Clint asked, "That mind control business. Did you know about that?"

"No," Loki admitted. "Mitchell rarely speaks of the vampires or their powers, and I do not like to, to pry. He has never volunteered such information and I have not asked him."

"Very courteous of you," Clint replied, a tinge of acid in his tone. Aware the rebuke was justified, Loki did not attempt to defend himself. After a moment, Clint sighed. "I suppose, since things have been so quiet with the vampires lately, it didn't seem necessary. We'll have to get hold of Mitchell and ask him a few questions. What I was wondering was, do you suppose they'd have any effect on Cap?"

"I do not know," Loki replied, uselessly. Then, "It seems possible this Mr. Snow would have sufficient power, even if an ordinary vampire did not." Perhaps Mr. Snow really could affect even Loki himself, which was both a most disturbing thought and not one it would be safe to ignore. Something else occurred to him. "As might Wyndham, if he truly is a thousand years old."

"Interesting that Ivan didn't seem to have a lot of respect for him," Clint noted. "If he's lived to be a thousand he must be pretty powerful. And you'd think he'd have to be smart."

"He might be talented at currying favour with the right vampires," Loki suggested. Something occurred to him. "We should also probably ask Mitchell to help us conduct experiments with you, Natasha, and Agent Coulson."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, glancing curiously at him. 

"Well, if the ordinary run of vampires use mind control to enable them to safely attack their victims, it may follow that power is of most use against ordinary human minds-- against ordinary… prey. The three of you have specific training, mental discipline, so you may be able to resist the influence of, at least, the ordinary run of vampires." Hearing his own words, Loki flinched inside.

"Not that Mitchell is an 'ordinary' vampire," Clint said kindly. "Anyway, yes, that's a really good idea. And I feel a little better that we've got more of an idea how the vampires fit into this whole thing. They never struck me as the most efficient species to act as shock troops, you know?"

"They would probably be quite offended, if they knew the esteem in which you held them," Loki remarked. 

"Let 'em," Clint scoffed. "After Dire Wraiths, vampires seem a whole lot less scary. Is this the turn to your street?"

"The next one, where the blue car is turning," Loki replied, and as perceptive as Clint was, Loki did not think the human really understood the depth of his relief at being so nearly _home._

Clint found a parking space halfway down the terrace, and the two walked back to the pink house on the corner. 

The moment he stepped through the door, Loki was aware of another presence inside the house. He was turning toward Clint and simultaneously reaching out with his weary magic to identify the intruder when, upstairs, a board creaked in the hall. There was little sense of movement from the agent, but suddenly he had a stake in one hand and his pistol in the other. With the stake, he gestured to Loki to be quiet. There was the sound of feet at the top of the staircase. Loki stepped forward. 

A moment later, with a glad little noise he was not quite able to suppress, he was flying up the stairs as Mitchell came around the bend, demanding querulously,

"What in the _hell_ have you been doing to my room?"


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** You may spot a reference from the first episode of **Agent Carter** in this chapter. I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying that show, and it’s just as well for this series that Tony's never invented a time machine. (IMAGINE Jarvis meeting JARVIS, though!)_
> 
> _Also, Tony steals one of the more famous quips from the Battle of Britain in this chapter. I'm pretty sure you'll spot it even if you don't already know it._
> 
> _Lastly, since I wrote **Brother's Keeper** well before **The Avengers** came out, there are a lot of ways beside the obvious that this series doesn't fit into current canon. Among the differences is the fact I wrote H!Hulk as I understood the character at the time. A!Hulk's final-act ability to control and aim himself was news to me, so H!Hulk sadly does not share it._
> 
> **_Warnings:_** Because this story is taking forever to write, it seems like a good time for a reminder that only a couple of hours have elapsed in story time since H!Loki came home, so everything is happening a lot faster than the pace of the writing may suggest (which has implications for this chapter.) Sorry for any confusion. 

"It's down here, just past the wine cellar," George explained as he led the way along the stone corridor under the house. "Right here," he added, stopping in front of a bright red-painted steel door with a complicated electronic lock. 

"Well, that won't draw anyone's attention," remarked Bruce. 

"You try getting past it," George retorted, and then added hastily, "In your current shape."

Bruce snorted quietly, and Steve, who had either been in contact with Tony or-- more likely-- was already trusted with the access code, stepped forward to open the door. A moment later the whole was group crowding through and looking around. 

For a moment, no one could speak. Then:

"Seriously, Tony, in your _vacation home?"_ Steve rhetorically addressed the absent inventor. 

"Should we be worried that all this is right next to the wine cellar?" Bruce wondered aloud. 

"Yes," Nina said, in a definite tone. "If something blows up, it will be a terrible waste of good wine." George looked slightly terrified, Bruce and Annie giggled, and Steve glanced at Nina with one of his unexpectedly mischievous grins.

Loki, meanwhile, was fully occupied with trying not to look as sick as he suddenly felt. It was not that he was being reminded of his most recent imprisonment, exactly, or the time before _that._ The most recent cell had borne no resemblance to the golden splendour of the rest of Asgard, and only its bare stone walls were at all reminiscent of this particular room. 

The cell before it--

Bile rose in his throat and he forced it down, the shameful evidence of fear. He _was no longer there._

He was no longer in that other cell, its walls also of unforgiving stone, but not bare. In that case, as in this, they were hung about with... weapons. 

There were still many differences between the two cells, principally in the matter of those weapons. Previously, Loki had of course been held immobile, unable to so much as turn his head or close his eyes, and so in his brief periods of _rest_ he had been compelled to look at the implements that would soon be brought to bear upon him once again. Those had been dull, fouled with his blood and that of previous unfortunates. Everything in this cell was new, shining, untouched. 

_Not intended for use on any individual person._

And there was, of course, the principal difference, the one that should be calming, reassuring-- in a moment it would be, he only needed a little time. The implements in this room were not for... _persuasion._

"I thought Tony wasn't making weapons anymore," Bruce remarked as he started forward. 

"Most of these have been down here for quite a while," Steve-- these familiar forms of address were reassuring as well, reminders to Loki that he was in different hands now-- said, with certainty. "And besides, you know Tony. He gets ideas and turns them into prototypes, and I'm not sure he exactly plans for them to be weapons until he's already working on them." Steve frowned thoughtfully as he lifted down a machine obviously intended for firing projectiles. "Howard was the same way, actually, at least when I knew him. Although I'd thank you all not to mention that to Tony. Now, let's get busy."

When Tony and Natasha returned a short time later, they found Steve leading the others in carrying out weapons. Tony waved briefly and ran straight into the house, while Natasha came over to lend a hand. 

"Gone for the suit?" Steve asked, and Natasha nodded. The new suits were unobtrusive to carry, and Tony pretty well always had one with him.

"The Quinjet's picking you up in the same field that was used for the dropoff," she reported. "Get going, it's only got to come from Wick so it'll be here shortly. Thor's on his way, I'll send him to rendezvous with you if he comes here first."

"So you're going for the first strike on Doom?" George asked anxiously. 

"We have to verify that really was his hideout Natasha saw," Steve replied. Glancing at Natasha, who did not seem offended, he went on, "Sending Doombots up from that location could have been a decoy, so we can't just attack the building without making sure. But yes-- we're going to try to draw him out on our terms instead of his, if we can."

"Go," Natasha ordered, "we're fine here." Steve and Bruce nodded and ran off down the path toward the landing field. A moment later, the red-and-gold shape of Iron Man went rocketing past overhead. Natasha glanced after him, then turned to the others. "The cover's better over there, in that grove. Come on."

~oOo~

After embracing Mitchell-- and having wrapped his arms around something solid and comforting, proof his life here was _real,_ he had some difficulty making himself let go-- Loki ran upstairs to the lavatory, denying himself the undoubted pleasure of hearing Clint explain exactly what he had done to Mitchell's room.

It was probably an encouraging sign, however, that once the urgent matter was attended to Loki felt sufficient curiosity to peek into the chamber under discussion to see what Mitchell was so upset about. The sight of the bare floor, the absence of random-looking heaps of the vampire's belongings, everything tidied away as if this was Annie's space instead of Mitchell's, was sufficiently disorienting to send Loki into a hasty retreat back down the stairs to the lounge. 

Where he found his friend and... his friend... sitting on the red chair (Clint) and the sofa (Mitchell), leaving Loki's accustomed place at the other end for himself. Mitchell glanced up at Loki hesitating at the edge of the tiled entry floor, smiled, and remarked, 

"You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. Clint tells me you've been rescuing Ivan?"

"Something like that," Loki murmured, edging forward a step. Mitchell frowned, confused rather than disapproving, and Loki mentally took himself by the scruff of the neck. He _belonged_ here, if he required proof he need only look at his very own keys to the front door. This was not the time to indulge his ridiculous anxieties. He crossed the floor with convincing assurance and sat down.

"I forgot all about him," Mitchell said regretfully. "And I promised Daisy I'd try to think of a way to help them, too."

"You _forgot?"_ Loki asked, puzzled. Mitchell cared for the other vampires, as much as he pretended indifference. It was unlike him to do such a thing.

"Yes, well, when Dr. Strange found you and Coulson asked for someone to come along and help him rescue you, I got a bit distracted," Mitchell replied, a little grumpily. 

"Oh," Loki said, rather abashed and also very touched. "Well. Thank you." Mitchell smiled quickly and turned back to Clint. 

"Did Ivan tell you anything about Doom and his plans?" he asked. 

"He doesn't seem to know much about them," Clint replied. "We did a little spying of our own, and it turns out someone called Mr. Snow is on his way to Bristol."

Had he been asked, Loki would not have agreed to spring that information on Mitchell. He was quite aware Clint had done it on purpose, to see Mitchell's reaction, but it struck him as unnecessary. 

And also rather cruel. Mitchell, who had as usual been slouched comfortably in his seat, abruptly flailed upright. 

_"Mr. Snow?"_ he repeated. _"Mr. Snow_ is coming to Bristol? What did Ivan have to say about _that?"_

Clint's eyes narrowed. "He was a little alarmed, to tell you the truth." Mitchell let out a snort composed of equal parts sarcasm and panic. Clint went on, "And if Ivan's scared, I'm scared."

"He certainly seems a formidable foe," Loki remarked, with what he recognized was foolhardy understatement. This time, Mitchell's huff of laughter sounded more like a sob. 

"You have no idea," the vampire told them. "I mean, you _think_ you do, but you don't. You really, really don't. The Old Ones are bad enough, but Mr. Snow is-- "

"I've noticed that everyone calls him _Mister,"_ Clint remarked. "Wyndham's an Old One too, and a pretty senior one if Ivan's information is correct-- " Mitchell nodded, folding his arms tightly across his chest-- "but Snow's the one who gets an honorific. I figure that has to mean something. Either everyone respects him, or everyone fears him, or-- "

"Both," Mitchell said, in a strangled voice. "Definitely both."

"Right," Clint said. "And I take it that means nobody's going to be able to get close enough to him, while in their right mind, to put a stake through him?" Mitchell nodded, and so did Clint. "Okay then. Wooden arrows aren't as easy to come by as they used to be, and I admit SHIELD's arsenal generally runs to more exotic materials, but I'm pretty sure I can work something out."

The expression on Mitchell's face made Loki suddenly rather sorry his friend could not be photographed. 

"Are you serious?" the vampire squeaked, sounding for a moment exactly like George did when under stress.

Clint shrugged. "It would help if I knew the effective range of the guy's mental abilities, but yeah. It's kind of what I do, remember? Anyway, aside from three vampires of questionable trustworthiness-- no offense, Mitchell-- "

"None taken," Mitchell shrugged back. "Vampires do what's best for the vampires. It's pretty much a given." 

"Okay. Aside from those three, and us, do we have any other assets here in Bristol that we can call on?"

"Loki's rhino charms," Mitchell offered. 

"Will those work, the shape you're in?" Clint asked Loki. 

"The spell on the house kept working when he was being tortured in the other dimension," Mitchell insisted loyally. "I think we can count on those."

"Assuming they can stop Mr. Snow," Clint noted. 

"They did Wyndham," Mitchell said firmly. "And Doom."

"I think we can also count on Agnes and Catherine," Loki contributed, grateful for Mitchell's faith in him but not nearly as certain as his friend seemed to be.

_"Agnes and Catherine?"_ Clint repeated. "Are they nuns? You're bringing in _nuns_ on our side?"

"I beg your pardon?" Loki asked, completely bewildered.

"Uh, no," Mitchell cut in, and his expression of amusement was suddenly, reassuringly, _just like_ him. "They're-- "

Before Mitchell had to decide what to tell Clint about the witches, they were interrupted by a buzzing tone from Clint's mobile phone. The archer pulled the device out of his pocket and glanced at it. 

The expression that crossed his face made it very clear Mr. Snow was no longer the most urgent matter they had to worry about. 

~oOo~

_So much for the element of surprise._

As the Quinjet followed Iron Man into the mountain range where Natasha had encountered the two Doombots, Steve-- up front with the pilot-- could see what looked like a cloud of mosquitos rising from the coordinates that corresponded to the suspicious building. 

They weren't mosquitos. 

"Bandits," Steve called a warning both to the pilot who, lacking Steve's enhanced senses, hadn't spotted them yet, and into the communicator to alert Natasha's crew back at the house. 

"I see them," Tony's voice came back through the communicator as he accelerated. He put on a fake English accent and added, "Don't worry, chaps, I've got them surrounded." 

Steve, scrambling to man the guns, had to laugh. Then he called to the pilot, 

"We're going to have to draw them low. Can you do that?"

"Draw them _low?"_ the pilot repeated incredulously. "Why would-- ?"

Steve reached over to the control that opened the aft hatch, as if they were deploying paratroops. Bruce was already roaring as he charged toward the open hatch, changing shape as he fell to earth. 

"Grabbing range," Steve said succinctly. "Just try not to attract _his_ attention, if you can."

"Roger," the pilot responded faintly, and Steve returned his attention to the guns. 

~oOo~

Tony was in the middle of the cloud of Doombots before they registered his presence, and knocked down two on his first pass. He angled himself back toward the swarm in a big sweeping turn, only to find the Doombots maintaining their original course as if they hadn't even noticed him. He came back in, bouncing them from above, and took down another at the back of the bunch. 

That at least registered with them: one of the Doombots on the fringe of the swarm broke off to engage Tony, while the others continued on the same heading. By the time Tony had dealt with the lone attacker, he had to put on an impressive burst of speed just to catch up. 

He was lining up the leader for a shot when the Quinjet came diving from above, and the Doombots diverted downward, all together like a school of fish. There was a flash of laser fire from the aircraft at the same moment the roaring Hulk leaped up from below, and another three Doombots were out of commission.

The rest of them continued undeterred. You couldn't scare them off: they weren't alive to be scared. The only way to stop them was to destroy either their control system, which was almost certainly deep underground, or every single one of the bots.

Tony knew there wasn't time to do either. 

"Tony! At your six!" Steve's voice sounded in Tony's helmet, just as JARVIS said calmly, 

"Another flight of Doombots is approaching us, sir," and flashed up an image from behind them, of a cloud of bandits just as big as the original one accelerating to join the first. 

"Christ," Tony said out loud, as the Quinjet banked around to intercept the newcomers. JARVIS couldn't venture an estimate of their number, and you didn't need to be Keith Park to figure out how this was going to end. "Black Widow, bandits heading for you. They're not interested in us at all, and there are too many for us to handle. They'll be on you in about five minutes."

"Copy," came Natasha's cool voice in his helmet. Tony dodged as Hulk snatched another Doombot out of the air, and went back to his hopeless attack. 

~oOo~

Loki looked around at the faces of the mortals. Natasha had disappeared into her character as the Black Widow, and not even Loki could tell whether she was afraid. George and Nina looked both terrified and at the same time touchingly, mulishly stubborn. Annie was looking at the sky in the direction from which the attack was expected, the little dog beside her, its ears cocked.

Everything felt ominously, oppressively quiet. The silence buzzed in their ears. It was difficult to breathe.

"Romanov," Loki said, walking over toward her. And then... he thought better of it, started over. "Natasha. Where is your helicarrier?"

"At least an hour away," she replied evenly. 

"And these attackers?"

Natasha did not respond. Perhaps she thought he was taunting her, which he was not. Still, the short span of time between the defenders leaving and their initial contact with the Doombots provided the answer to his question: they had a few minutes at most before the attack arrived. 

Loki looked around again, at gentle Annie, kindly George and fierce Nina. At Natasha, who had told him her Avengers did not have to be his enemies, and had perhaps spoken the truth. 

Behind them was the grey stone house, a peaceful place, and in its cellar a secure room where, for safety, Annie had confined the two little cats.

_For safety._ The idea was laughable. The Doombots would reduce the house to a heap of smoking rubble, kill the mortals and the little cats, destroy everything.

It would all be his fault. 

He turned back to Natasha.

"You cannot fight them." His voice was certain, and her look in return silently agreed with him.

"Sure we can," George spoke up, his voice high and tense and stubborn.

"Five of us," Loki sneered, "and these small cannons. How long, pray, do you expect us to last? I _told_ you-- "

"You told us there was a large force, yes. And we had hoped to hit Doom hard before he could launch the assault," Natasha said, her tone cool and professional. 

"If you have a better idea," George said shrilly, "I'm sure we'd all love to hear it."

"In fact, I do," Loki snarled. His heart was pounding so hard the others must hear it as he spat, "You will bid the others draw back, yourselves remain in hiding, and I will surrender to them."

Natasha's face did not change. George's more than made up for the lack. Loki did not look at Annie, did not respond to her sharp, "Loki, _no."_

"The whole point of this was to keep you from falling into their hands," Natasha reminded him. 

"Yes, and after you are all killed, and your other Avengers, and the house destroyed and, and everything in it-- what will happen then?" Romanov-- Natasha-- offered no response. None was needed. Loki went on, "If I go with them, you may then regroup and come to my rescue with a larger force."

"You're confident we'll come for you?" Natasha asked, looking at him very hard.

"I am confident it is in your best interests to do so," Loki replied, holding his sneer in place with an effort. 

_If the Allfather and his son had known what trouble the lost monster would cause when someone else took him from the void, perhaps they would have stirred themselves to look for him sooner. Before it was too late._

Natasha nodded once, and Annie repeated _"No,"_ as George spluttered, "You don't-- you don't have to-- "

"In fact, I do," Loki replied, and now he could hear, in the distance, the sound of the approaching Doombots. They were out of time. He addressed Natasha. "There is nothing else to be done. Tell your friends to break off their attack."

Natasha turned to speak into her communicator, and Loki forced a smile to his face as he faced the other Loki's friends. He could have pointed that out, reminded them their own friend was safe and would soon return to them. 

He did not-- which felt rather strange, it having been many years since Loki had refrained from speaking out of a fear his words might be cruel. Instead, he said,

"There is nothing to fear," which was of course a lie, and "I owe you at least this much," which was certainly true. 

And then he walked out of the stand of trees, into the open, and waited. 

~oOo~

As Natasha, crouching with the others in the underbrush, watched Loki walk across the grass she really did feel like swearing. All the firepower SHIELD could command, and they still managed to be out of reach of all of it at a time like this. There had to be a solution somewhere between "surrender Dorothy" and "everyone dies," but in the time available she couldn't think of one. 

From a purely practical viewpoint, at least Loki's magic was so depleted right now that he couldn't act against them even if he wanted to. She was pretty sure he wasn't lying about how low his reserves were, he was genuinely wobbly and the readings she'd asked JARVIS to take confirmed the impression. They just had to hope Loki could stand up to whatever Doom did to try and _persuade_ him between now and when he was rescued. 

"We can't let him do this," Annie murmured, somewhere behind her. 

"Sorry," Natasha replied, which was the best she could manage, and kept her eyes on Loki. Watching the Doombots take him was almost the last thing she wanted to do, but the _very_ last thing she wanted was to see Annie's face when that happened. 

Loki, shoulders rigid, looked up as the drone of the Doombots intensified, then raised his hands. It was an obvious gesture of surrender, which didn't stop the lead bot from firing a bolt of electricity into his chest. 

Loki crumpled. The two bots flanking the first dove in to grab him, picked him up like birds of prey, and the entire swarm flew off to the east. Behind Natasha, George let out a muffled sound, probably through hands clasped over his mouth. 

And then he cried, _"Annie!"_

Natasha slewed around on her knees to look, but Annie was already gone.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _In which something that was bound to happen eventually, does. Also there is a sideways reference yet another story/myth I'm pretty sure Loki should not think about too hard._
> 
>  
> 
> _I’m sorry this chapter took so long. We’ve been having some weather here in Nova Scotia, and shoveling out my driveway several times a week has taken a bite out of my fic-writing time! (And it will again this weekend. I know my car is in there somewhere!)_
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _Warnings:_** _None._

SHIELD arranged for helicopters to pick up Coulson and his group in London, as well as Clint's in Bristol, and deliver them to the helicarrier. There was a span of some thirty minutes between their receiving word of the coming aircraft and its arrival, which gave Loki time to pack everything he and Mitchell might need into his magical carpetbag, and also to worry himself nearly into a frenzy over the vague information given them about what had happened at Tony's Scottish house. 

Not, of course, that he let his terror show. Not with Clint and Mitchell so preoccupied with matters far more pressing than Loki's anxieties. And… not in front of Clint. Not just now.

 _Clint, not Barton,_ he reminded himself, and wished he could remember exactly what had happened to cause this new anxiety. 

At the same time, of course, he felt he could willingly live the rest of his life without that knowledge. It was tiresome indeed, being such a contradictory beast. Possibly the only thing worse was to be compelled to live with him. And that was not a thought to dwell upon, not in his current company or frame of mind.

The three walked down Windsor Terrace to Victoria Park, where there was ample room for the helicopter to land. As they entered the park Loki was somewhat reassured by the presence of two large white rhinoceroses over near the play structure, one grazing while the other lay upright on her breastbone. A little distance away, their two small offspring chased each other around the swing set and jousted with their soft baby noses. It was comforting to know his working had held during his… absence.

The arriving helicopter attracted a certain amount of interest from the humans in the park, but picked up its passengers and swiftly departed before any could move in its direction. As he embarked Loki noticed, on its side, the symbol representing air ambulances, which would raise questions among the humans but provide a sort of answer of its own. Perhaps he and his companions would be taken for physicians, for human healers, being carried away on some mission of mercy. 

As the helicopter powered up and lifted off from the grass-- the rhinoceroses raising their heads for a moment before returning to their own activities-- Loki realized he would receive no more information from Clint, even assuming Clint had any to offer. The inside of the aircraft was oppressively noisy, and unless Clint seemed to wish to speak it did not seem worthwhile to expend the magic necessary to create a bubble of quiet around them. Instead, Loki sat clutching his carpetbag on his lap and tried to think of nothing at all, or failing that nothing of importance. 

This was only Loki's second journey in a helicopter, and it was enough to make him resolve to investigate whether his world-walking abilities could be trained enough to allow him to travel to map coordinates, rather than only between known places, and also to carry humans along with him. He and his housemates had found that, at full power, he was quite capable of taking them along on his ordinary trips, but navigation to unknown places was an issue and he had never had reason to take a human anywhere. If it spared him a third trip in a helicopter, the effort would be amply repaid.

The helicarrier, having first made its way to Scotland to fetch the group at Tony's house, had then sailed out over the Grampian Mountains, a sparsely populated region, and hovered there at low altitude as it waited for the helicopters. The great vessel was quite impervious to the air currents common to mountains, but the helicopters were not, and Loki found himself gathering all the scraps of magic he could command and holding them ready in case he might be called upon to help. He was puzzled, at first, at their location-- and then he considered there would be not one, but two Hulks on this helicarrier, and realized the place had been chosen so that, if the worst happened, Bruce and/or Banner could simply throw himself or themselves overboard and rampage among the trees and rocks until he or they calmed down. 

The notion of two Hulks battering one another down there did not bear much thinking about, although Loki did catch himself reflecting upon his kittens' rough games, and wondering whether the Hulks might actually enjoy the chance of a little wresting match with someone they could not possibly harm.

And then the helicopter was touching down on its landing pad, and Loki was suddenly far too nervous to think on such frivolity. He waited for Clint to indicate it was safe to disembark-- whatever the tales told in human mythology, Loki had little desire to have his head lopped off by the rotor. Even if, like the fictional Mimir, he-- or at least his head-- survived the process (which frankly seemed to him unlikely in the extreme) he had little wish to carry his own head about with him like some sort of grotesque lantern, so that he might see his way. 

Well, perhaps he was not too nervous to think on _any_ kind of frivolity. 

Clint gestured to Mitchell and Loki to follow, then led the way out of the helicopter. Clutching his carpetbag-- and incidentally feeling very much like the red-haired orphan girl in the early chapters of the book of Green Gables-- Loki stepped down. 

Clint led them to the observation room overlooking the flight deck, familiar to Loki from earlier adventures. It was a large room with windows on all sides, equipped with a conference table and chairs, conveniently located to permit Bruce to quickly step outside, should that become necessary. Loki, his heart suddenly beating very rapidly, straightened his shoulders and followed Clint and Mitchell through the door. He stopped just inside, glancing around at the other occupants as he did so. 

Across the room, a disorienting collection of faces turned toward him. Loki composed his expression into what he hoped was a neutral look and forced himself to continue to breathe evenly. He looked around, feigning calm self-control, and mercifully spotted his brother and George sitting at one end of the table. Mitchell saw them at the same time and walked over to sit down beside them. Loki followed. 

As they approached, George and Thor stood up to meet them.

~oOo~ 

Finding himself in a room with _two_ Nick Furies _(Furys?)_ was definitely the stuff of Stark's nightmares. On the other hand, Stark thought, finding himself in a room with _two_ Tony Starks was probably not high on Fury's-- either Fury's-- list of desirable outcomes, either. To say nothing of two of everyone else, except possibly Steve Rogers. 

Their chopper caught up to the helicarrier over a mountain range somewhere in northern… England, Scotland, whatever, Stark was a little confused about boundaries right now. Anyway, it wasn't like he'd been anywhere near here since Howard sold the house in the Highlands. Coulson led the way to an observation deck exactly like the one Stark was used to. 

It even contained Nick Fury, waiting for them. Which was a little less normal than it might have been, given that, as noted, _Nick Fury was also right behind them._ Talk about your classic pincers maneuvre. The only saving grace was the obvious fact that Nick Fury-- either one-- didn't like Nick Fury any better than he liked anyone else. 

"I understand from Coulson that you've offered to help us with our little problem," Fury-- the one from this reality-- growled. "I appreciate that. Have a seat. When the chopper from Bristol gets here we'll brief everybody on what's happened so far."

Stark and his group, minus Coulson who crossed the room to join the _other_ Stark and his companions-- and, not gonna lie, the reminder this wasn't their Coulson stung-- took seats on one side of the conference table. Stark leaned back in his chair and had a good look at the other set of Avengers, skipping over the two strangers, a shaken-looking young man wearing glasses, and next to him a white-faced young woman. 

These Avengers definitely looked like they'd been in a fight. From the little Coulson had said, Aslan-Thor had apparently arrived in Scotland just in time to help defend the Quinjet from the last of the Doombots. Thor and his version of Captain America-- whose team called him _Steve,_ and Stark decided to do the same because he was getting confused already-- seemed convinced the Doombot rearguard had been more focused on distraction than destruction. 

"They broke off their attack when the main body got what they seemed to view as a safe distance ahead," Rogers-- _Steve--_ explained. 

"And then, what? Flew away?" Rogers-- _Rogers--_ asked. 

"Self-destructed," Steve replied shortly. 

"They didn't, I don't know, change tactics or anything?" Banner asked.

"They probably didn't have orders to do that," Coulson said calmly. "Doom programs them with, I suppose you'd say a mission, and they do whatever's necessary to fulfil that mission but not one thing more. I don't know whether he _can't_ create a genuine artificial intelligence, or if he just doesn't trust them. Once their job is done they tend to either withdraw or self-destruct." 

"So you've never captured one to study?" Stark asked, and Coulson shook his head. "Damn."

"You haven't tangled with the Doombots yet?" Fury-- the Fury who belonged on this side-- began, and then interrupted himself to look very hard at Barton. "What?" 

Barton said nothing, and Coulson spoke up.

"Is there something about _missions_ we need to know?"

If it hadn't been Coulson, Barton probably would have refused to answer. Instead, he glanced at Romanov, who nodded microscopically, and gave in. 

"The sceptre did the same thing," Barton said woodenly. "Loki didn't tell me what to do when I was-- He almost never gave me a specific order. He'd tell me what he needed to get done, and I'd figure out what I could do to make it happen." He shrugged. "He didn't need a minion to just follow orders-- he made as much use of my particular skill set as he could."

"The sceptre just made you part of his… team," Black Widow, the one who belonged here, _Natasha,_ prompted. Barton nodded.

"Yeah," Barton said. "Selvig was the same way, and the others-- he'd tell them what he needed, and they'd do whatever they could to help him. It felt… it felt like I was making my own decisions, except there was always a part of me that knew I couldn't control what the decision was _about."_ Looking intensely uncomfortable, he went on, "Loki used to go off by himself, and when he came back he'd give us more details about what we were supposed to be doing. He… always looked pretty bad when he came back."

Aslan-Thor frowned. "Do you believe he was then in communication with the beings who controlled _him?"_

"Maybe," Barton muttered. "I don't know. I didn't... Loki was gone, the invasion was stopped, and after the debriefing I didn't really want to think about it anymore. Didn't seem to matter." 

Aslan-Thor's stern face softened a little. "It is understandable," he admitted. He might have said more, and certainly Stark wanted to ask the Scottish group _where the hell they'd stashed Loki,_ but just at that they heard the second helicopter landing. Thor's attention, along with everyone else's, immediately turned toward the door. A couple of minutes later the last three members of their happy little crew walked in: this side's Clint Barton (who gravitated toward Natasha, a pleasing reminder that some things never changed), followed by the vampire who'd accompanied Coulson on his rescue mission. 

And Loki.

It took a second to recognize him, actually, and not just because he was now wearing jeans, sneakers, and two layers of t-shirts instead of being half-naked and smeared with blood. The top, short-sleeved shirt had, on its chest, a line drawing of either a melted bowtie or-- although this was ridiculous-- the F1 track at Silverstone. 

It wasn't just the clothing, Loki's whole demeanour had completely changed from the disoriented, compliant prisoner Stark had seen last. Say what you like about magic, whatever they'd done to him in Viking fairyland seemed to have worked: his colour was better, his hair was back, and there was definitely somebody home behind his eyes now. 

Which Stark really wasn't inclined to consider a particularly good thing: once again Loki wore the cold, supercilious expression of the guy gouging eyeballs and telling everyone to kneel. He followed the vampire around the table without looking at anyone else-- of course not, they were all _beneath him--_ heading for Aslan-Thor, who rose from his chair and, along with the spectacled kid and the white-faced girl, went to meet him. The group retreated to a corner of the room, Thor speaking in a surprisingly quiet rumble.

Rogers recaptured Stark's attention by, politely but firmly, addressing his opposite number:

"If we're going to help you, we need to know what's going on. I know Coulson was briefed, and I believe he passed his information on to Director Fury-- " glance at their Fury as Coulson nodded slightly-- "but the rest of us just know things went sideways in Scotland. What happened, and where is… the other Loki?"

As Rogers was speaking Stark could see, out of the corner of his eye, the Loki who belonged here, and his body language was stiff and agitated. _Steve_ opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out from across the room a guttural voice snarled, 

"And _where is Annie?"_

~oOo~

Thor gestured to Loki and Mitchell to accompany himself, George, and Nina to the far end of the room. Glad enough to get away from the enemy Avengers, Loki willingly followed. As he did, however, he was casting about with his magic to find Annie. 

The second Loki was not present, either. It must be admitted that Loki was really in no hurry to meet his _doppelganger,_ but if he and Annie were both absent, that suggested the other Loki might have been injured in Scotland, was receiving treatment, and Annie was offering him support and comfort. Which was, of course, exactly what Annie _would_ do, he told himself, trying to hold back the wave of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm whatever sympathy he could muster up for the other Loki. And then, of course, he also felt hot with shame at both his own selfishness and his apparent wish to dictate what Annie might do. Annie had _died_ of that trait in another, she must not also find it in _him--_

"Loki," Thor said, his voice low and urgent. Loki blinked and focused gratefully on his brother. "I did not wish for you to hear this through a communications device, or at second-hand."

"Hear what?" Loki asked, his throat suddenly dry. Thor hesitated, and Loki prompted him: "Brother."

"We were attacked by a great body of Doombots," Thor explained, beginning for some reason to look uncomfortable. He hesitated, and Loki took a step closer to him, hands clenching. Thor went quickly on, "There were too many to fight off, and the defenders would have been overrun."

"And what happened?" Loki demanded, beginning to feel light-headed. Chills and heat rushed through his body, like a recurrence of the flu.

"The other Loki realized the only way to end the attack was for him to surrender to them. He did so. He was carried away by the Doombots."

Loki choked a little as his breath caught in his throat. "He was-- He-- "

The other Loki had _surrendered._ He had been taken away. He was not with the healers of SHIELD, not on the helicarrier at all. 

"Yes, brother," Thor said gently, moving a little closer.

 _Annie was not somewhere on the vessel with the other Loki, comforting and reassuring him._

That being the case-- 

Loki stared unseeingly at Thor, wringing his hands, a feeling within his chest of something… breaking free. 

No, not _free. Loose._ Like cargo in a ship on rough seas, breaking loose from its bindings, crashing about in the hold, throwing the vessel off its balance and threatening to sink it--

When he spoke again, the words had to be forced past a sharp-cornered blockage in his throat:

"The Doombots _took him?"_

Thor's voice came from a long way away. "Yes."

And now it was not just cargo crashing around in his chest, it was a wild animal, nearly the same sensation as the feeling of his imprisoned magic not so long ago. 

Nearly, but not quite. Loki knew this sensation as well, had experienced it before, and as before he was powerless to control it. He took a step toward his brother and, with the feeling of both words and blockage tearing at his throat, heard himself snarl, 

"And _where is Annie?"_

"Doom vaporized her," Nina blurted, tears starting to pour out of her eyes, and Loki slewed toward her. Before he could speak-- and the Norns alone knew what he might have said-- George, arms around Nina, spoke up hastily, 

"No, no. Nina, you didn't think-- I'm sorry. Loki, she went after him."

"After the other Loki?" Loki demanded, feeling lightheaded and strangely breathless. It was becoming difficult to even see clearly.

"Yes," George said. "Nina, I'm sorry, I forgot we hadn't told you-- "

"She _went with Doom?_ The other Loki was taken away by Doom, a powerful sorcerer, and _Annie went with him?_ And _you permitted this?"_ Blurry faces turned toward him, George and Thor and Mitchell and Nina. 

"Loki-- " Thor began, and Loki rounded on him, too, his voice dropping to the bottom of its register as if _that_ could intimidate his brother:

"And where were _you_ when this was happening? When Annie was sacrificing herself for this, this-- You _know_ Doom's power-- he might do _anything_ to her, _anything. Where were you?"_

~oOo~

Stark knocked his chair over as he pushed it back, and was on his feet before he remembered that he didn't have his suit. There was a flurry of movement at the other end of the table, nearest the door leading outside, as one Banner gestured to the other and they both fled out to the flight deck. Stark didn't worry about that, obviously if the Hulk was needed, both of him would be nearby.

Everyone else had turned toward the commotion across the room, where Loki was getting right up in Aslan-Thor's face, his own blotchy, shouting abuse. He sounded so crazy Stark didn't even try to make sense of his words. He was literally spitting in rage and lunacy, looking capable of anything and clearly winding himself up to lash out.

With a reminiscent pain in his throat and feeling very grateful the glowstick was in another reality, Stark tensely waited for someone to take the asshole down before this got any worse. 

And then, thank God, Aslan-Thor stepped forward.

~oOo~

 _Stop this. Stop._ Far away in the back of his mind Loki could hear a horrified little voice, uselessly pleading with him to calm down before it was too late. He did not heed it. He _could not._

_Faces turned toward him, Thor and Mitchell and George and Nina. They would fall down-- why had they not yet fallen down?-- and he would be left alone, alone, and Annie was gone--_

Annie was gone, and he was about to destroy everything he had left, and he could not stop himself, and--

And suddenly he was being dragged forward, stumbling a little, and crashed into what felt like a wall, hard and solid and--

Warm. There were arms around him and a large hand on the back of his head. Loki made one brief, and frankly rather half-hearted, effort to free himself… and then, choking on a sob of relief, he leaned into his brother and held on. 

~oOo~

Stark thought he was prepared for anything-- well, as prepared as he could possibly be without a suit-- but when Thor hauled Loki into a bearhug, and Loki responded first by letting out a sound like a half-drowned man being dragged into a lifeboat, and then latching onto Thor and burying his face in his shoulder… well, that was maybe not one of the possibilities Stark had been considering. 

And then Loki burst into noisy painful tears, which gave every sign of going on for a while. The Fury who belonged here caught Thor's attention and gestured toward the door. Thor nodded over his brother's head, adjusted his grip-- Loki responded by tightening his own-- and shepherded his little group out of the conference room and, presumably, to somewhere more private. 

At which Fury gave every sign of going right back to the briefing, but Rogers spoke up:

"Is that-- is _he--_ going to be all right?"

Fury fixed him with a terrifyingly benign look-- it should have been reassuring to know some things were the same across realities but, yeah, _no--_ and replied in a dangerously pleasant tone, 

"You mean the situation? Or Loki?"

"Both, sir," Rogers replied stiffly. Down the table, _Steve_ was looking at Rogers as if wondering whether he could kick his own ass, but Stark found himself sympathizing. In the first place, in spite of being told repeatedly that this Loki was mostly harmless, it wasn't a natural assumption for anyone who'd seen the other Loki in action to make. So having him suddenly blow his stack like that was bound to look like the prelude to, say, another bid at world domination. 

On the other hand, once he'd started crying the prior explosion suddenly looked more like an ordinary emotional outburst, kind of the way someone else, mentioning no names, might deal with stress by getting plastered. Neither of these outlets was ideal, but Stark supposed the good thing about the screaming breakdown option was, at least the people around you knew you were upset, as opposed to just being an asshole. 

Although judging by the expression on the face of the remaining Thor, that bit was also up for debate.

"The _situation_ is, there is no _situation,"_ Fury answered Rogers' question. "Loki's kind of an emotional guy, he's had a tough couple of days, what with being kidnapping and tortured and all-- " Stark wanted to object to _torture,_ but when you came right down to it he had no idea what else to call it-- "and he should have stayed in Asgard for more than, what, a magical aspirin and a nap. But he didn't. And now it looks like his girlfriend's been kidnapped too-- "

 _"Girlfriend?"_ Stark blurted, although even as he spoke he seemed to remember Coulson saying something about the subject. Thor looked actively alarmed but, probably wisely in this company, said nothing.

"Yes," Fury said dismissively, and went on, "He'll get it together, Thor and George will brief him and Mitchell, and when they're ready they'll come back." He glanced around the room, lingering on his alter-ego, and added in a conversational tone, "And when they do, everyone will keep in mind that Loki is our magical consultant, which makes him part of our team. And if anybody does anything to harm a member of our team, we will _end them._ Even if they're us.

"Do we understand each other?"

Complete silence, even from the second Fury. The Fury who was speaking nodded. 

"Good. Now, Barton-- I don't care which one-- go out and tell Banner and Banner it's safe to come back in here."

~oOo~

Loki paid almost no attention to where Thor was taking him-- of all the myriad fears and worries he was currently crushed under, _what Thor might do with him_ did not figure in any way. A small corner of his mind had the sense to be grateful for that. 

It was a very small corner. The rest of his brain had apparently ceded control altogether, to the point he could not even be alarmed at or embarrassed by his own behaviour. It was quite some time before he could muster up the energy to even try to stop crying. It was some time after that before he managed to do so.

When his tears were finally all shed, and he was no longer making uncouth noises as he tried to breathe, Loki searched his pockets for tissues with which to blow his nose and resorted to his sleeves for his eyes. His brother's arm was still around him, heavy and warm, and he continued to lean gratefully into Thor for support. 

He should have been humiliated, but instead Loki felt drained, but calm. Safe. The anxiety that oppressed him had dissipated, and the idea of facing both sets of Avengers no longer frightened him. It was a thing that had to be done, and elements of it would not be pleasant, but he _could_ do it. 

Another thing he _could_ do, and must before they went any farther, was to apologize for his outburst. He was not embarrassed by the weeping, but some of the things he had said-- 

"Brother," he began, then had to stop to clear his throat. "Brother, George, I am so sorry for… I should never have said all those-- "

Thor tightened his arm, shook him gently. "For my part, it is forgotten."

"You looked like you needed to let off steam," George added. 

Their generosity might have moved him to tears, had he any left. Rather than do so, he attempted a feeble jest:

"Well, I find I have no urge at all to usurp a throne or destroy a realm, so-- " Thor shook him again, still gently, and Loki understood the subject to be, for the moment, dropped. He therefore went on, "Tell me-- " The choice of words sent a shiver through him and he hastily corrected himself: "I would like to know what happened to Annie." _Annie, who made her own decisions and was not George's to control,_ he reminded himself sternly. _Nor was she Thor's, or his._

"There were too many Doombots to stop," George explained. "We all would have been killed. So Natasha promised we'd get reinforcements and come to the rescue, and Loki gave himself up." George hesitated, then-- "And when the Doombots grabbed him, Annie disappeared. She must have gone after him. I only wish she'd taken Scamp-- Scamp and the kittens are in a room in the crew quarters, incidentally-- but I guess she didn't think of that, it all happened so fast." George looked straight at Loki and added, "Whatever happened to him before he showed up here, he was alone. And whatever Doom does to him now, Annie didn't want him to face that alone." 

Loki discovered he had a few tears left after all, but he refused to shed them. Compressing his lips, he simply nodded. Of course that was what she had done. Why would he consider that surprising?

Mitchell reached over, squeezed Loki's shoulder, and opened his mouth to make some almost-certainly optimistic comment. 

Before he could do so, Nina spoke:

"But _how_ did she do it? Is she a, a mutant or something? How could she just _disappear?"_

_Oh._

George, Mitchell, and Loki looked at each other. A silent decision was reached. 

"Nina," George began, rather painfully, "there's something we need to tell you."


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes:** Just a couple of reminders:_
> 
> _First, I don't read comics, so my stories do not incorporate elements from any comics universe, including the pre- **Dark World** retcon one. Second, way back in the beginning I commented that both universes in this story are AUs. I thought I'd reiterate that: obviously neither universe here is "canon" since I wrote both of them, and besides I don't plan to rewatch **The Avengers** to verify my memories of that story. Third, and possibly related to the previous point-- I probably don't need to say this, but we're seeing this story through a number of different points of view, and all of them are limited, subjective, and biased._
> 
> _And speaking of that-- Loki is known as a talented liar. It's one of his most important weapons. I personally believe he's too smart to waste that advantage by lying every time he opens his mouth and so making people assume the lie. My opinion, which you don't have to agree with in canon but which informs the choices made in this fic, is that Loki generally lies if there's a tactical reason for so doing. (H!Loki isn't great at lying on his own behalf, and also if he's scared he's likely to lie or at least-- depending on the situation-- say whatever he thinks his audience wants to hear. That's at least part of the reason he was so suggestible a few chapters ago. A!Loki is a tougher prospect because he's had to be.) Overall, especially with regard to utterances from canon, if Loki says something that advances his own cause, I tend to assume he's lying-- whether what he says is conciliatory or a vicious threat. If there's no apparent tactical advantage to an utterance, I tend to think there's a good chance he's telling the truth._

The cell was roughly nine steps across. Loki had paced it out repeatedly since he had awakened, ignoring the Doombots which came and went on the other side of the glass walls. He did not actually take all nine steps, of course, but on the seventh step there was always the same distance, the length of one stride, between himself and the glass. There being nowhere to sit and precious little else to occupy his time, Loki paced and did not trouble himself whether such activity made him look manic.

He was naturally reminded of that other glass cell. There were differences, of course. The previous cell had been set within the gleaming steel of the helicarrier, whereas when he looked around now, he saw the stone walls of some ancient dungeon.

_Dungeon._ So much for George's well-meant suggestion of _cellar._ There was no disguising the purpose of this space. It was not the same underground room he had seen in his vision-- there was no trace of the Doombot controls-- but his condition when he arrived had been such that he was unsure whether he was merely in a different chamber, or another location altogether.

The second difference between this cell and the other-- an even more important one from Loki's perspective-- was the fact that, this time, he really could not escape.

Loki had long since realized that he, or rather his allies-- _or, to call them what they really were, his masters\--_ had badly underestimated the humans of Midgard. Indeed, the same could also be said of the Allfather and his son. The Allfather had always spoken of mortals as though they were little more than rather interesting farm animals, but the humans had scarcely needed the mighty Thor to defend themselves from Loki's attack. 

Really, if the Allfather had not so thoroughly underestimated the mortals in the first place, he would never have left an artifact as powerful as the Tesseract on the realm to be discovered by them. Loki did not know whether the _great king_ had assumed it would never be found, in which case he knew nothing of the mortals' curiosity, or whether Odin believed they would not be able to devise a use for it, which slighted their ingenuity. Regardless, even had Loki not already learned the Allfather was not in fact the wisest of kings, Asgard's treatment of the Tesseract would have taught him otherwise. 

However, Asgard and the creatures who had controlled Loki-- and, very well, Loki himself-- were not the only ones who made assumptions or failed to take accurate measure of a situation. The fact the mortals had used the Tesseract _at all_ certainly suggested as much: what manner of fool would take a source of power he did not remotely understand and immediately go to work making a _weapon_ out of it? Or, realizing it was sending out a sort of call, not ask himself whether there was anyone who might hear and respond to it? 

The behaviour of Director Fury, when Loki was imprisoned in that other glass cell, was yet another example of the humans' limitations. The one-eyed human had been pleased to jeer at Loki, gloating over the cell that was made to contain something much stronger than he.

That much was, of course, true: the Hulk was indeed more physically powerful than Loki. (The greater question, so far as Loki was concerned, was how Fury had intended to get a rampaging Hulk _into_ the cell in the first place, through an inadequate door. Did he really think Banner so self-sacrificing that he would, in human form, _walk into_ what was intended as his death chamber? Speculating on the matter had passed some of Loki's duller moments in custody.) Still, it was actually rather disappointing to recognize in Fury the same limitations of imagination so common in Asgard: the belief that physical strength was all. 

Of course, the man did not know that Loki was a despised weakling in Asgard, and so he had not asked himself how the weakling might have adapted in order to survive. Regardless, the apparent lack of curiosity, the tendency to make assumptions, did not speak particularly well of his professional capabilities. Apparently, Fury resembled Odin Allfather in more than the matter of eyes.

It appeared Fury had not even asked himself why, during the time the son of Odin battled the soldier and the man of iron, Loki had not taken advantage of his opportunity to escape. That lapse of judgement had worked in Loki's favour at the time, but had probably contributed to his own failure to accurately take the measure of the other humans he dealt with. 

Of course Loki had not the brute strength to break through the walls of that cell. He did not need it, not when he could so easily have simply passed through them. He had not done so because his mission was to distract the Avengers, make them focus on himself to the exclusion of all else, ensure they did not stop to think of who else might be coming and what they might want. He had failed in that, of course-- the humans' grasp of tactics was rather better than Loki had expected, he did not exempt himself from the error of _underestimation--_ but the cell itself would not have inconvenienced him for a moment, had he decided to leave. 

This one, on the other hand…

Doom was a sorcerer, of course, a being who understood and was able to control magic. What Loki had seen of him, that night outside the little house in Bristol, had not been overly impressive, but he was currently revising his opinion-- of both Doom and, by extension, the accursed other Loki whose spells had foiled him. This cell was not composed solely of glass. As he reached tentatively out with the little power he currently had, Loki could feel wards and workings surrounding him like a second, invisible wall, one he could not possibly break through. 

Part of the problem was of course his current weakness. But this was only part of the problem. The strength of the wards suggested that, even at full power, he might have difficulty overcoming them. And this was without considering the dull pain beginning to form behind his eyes, one that hinted the spells might also be doing something to hold back his magic, make it harder for him to access even as it recovered.

Keeping the unconcerned sneer on his face was beginning to take an effort. 

_They would come for him. Natasha Romanov and the other Avengers. She had promised, and they would come._

It was in their interest to rescue him, he reminded himself. Even if the other Avengers cared nothing for _him,_ they would not want him under Doom's control. Natasha Romanov was far too practical to permit such a thing to happen, or at least to allow it to continue. 

_Practical._ It would have been _practical_ for her to have killed him, rather than give him up to Doom's forces. She had not. Perhaps she believed he was invulnerable to her weapons-- which might, at one time, have been true. At the moment, Loki was not at all certain. 

Perhaps she believed these Doombots would wreak vengeance if baulked of their prey, and letting him live was the only way to save herself and her companions. Perhaps she and he had the same idea, if for differently selfish reasons. 

Perhaps… there had been some other reason. A wish not to upset Annie and George? Could she be _sentimental_ about creatures so different from herself?

Regardless, he was alive, and could be fairly confident of someone, eventually, making the effort to rescue him. 

_You thought that after the void,_ a hateful little voice whispered. _When the Other captured you, when you could not escape--_

Hope had sustained him for a surprisingly long time. Of course the Allfather, and his bro-- and Thor-- of course they had not been able to catch up to him, not while he was sliding through the branches of Yggdrasil, evading the terrifying creatures who lived there. But after he was captured, trapped-- _then_ he confidently waited for Heimdall to see him-- Heimdall who saw all, within the Nine or without, on whose loyalty and vision all the kings of Asgard _(all but one)_ had relied-- and tell the Allfather where to find him. 

_Someone would come. They would not leave him here, in this torment. Surely not._

The truth had dawned very gradually: no one was coming to help him. _No, Loki,_ really had been a repudiation. He was not the Allfather's son, no longer named Odinson. He was useless, worthless _("those plans no longer matter")_ and his fate was of no further concern to his erstwhile family. 

When hope was extinguished, pride had tried to take its place. But pride in _nothing_ quickly wore out: he was not Odinson, not a prince of Asgard, not any of the _selves_ that had sustained or comforted him in those long centuries alone in Asgard. 

How long could a monster endure through sheer stubbornness, before it gave in to the truth? Why _not_ be monstrous, if nothing else was left? 

Despite outward appearances, the question really had never been adequately answered. He probably would have given in of his own volition, in a little more time and with sufficient additional _persuasion,_ but his captors had no use for a volunteer who might change his mind. Instead, when he had been sufficiently weakened--

_The glowing blue gem._

_His powers bound._

He was given the blue gem, set in the sceptre, source of the only little power he was permitted, and also a tie back to his _master._ He had a purpose again. He would succeed, he would be worthy, he would _show them--_

He was simultaneously completely-- if artificially-- committed to his task and also aware it was disastrous folly, even if he succeeded. But only folly for _him,_ and that did not matter. It never had. He had tried to resist, had desperately resented being used as a mere tool but, with so many centuries' practice in serving the will of others, sheer _habit_ had come to his captors' assistance. It was as though the new masters simply followed paths worn down by those who came before. 

With no hope of rescue and his resistance worn down, he had given in. And then-- _then_ the Allfather and his son had taken notice, had stirred themselves to come find him. He would not forget that.

The position in which he now found himself was frighteningly similar, but there was one vital difference: this time, his chance of rescue had nothing to do with the value his rescuers placed on _him._ This time, the Avengers knew from the beginning that he was in the hands of someone who intended to hurt _them_ and things _they_ valued. Rescuing Loki would deprive their enemies of a potentially powerful weapon, was worth the risk for that reason if no other. That knowledge gave him hope.

Loki did not care _what_ motivated these Avengers to help him. He only cared that it _did,_ that they _would._ Protestations of brotherhood meant nothing when they were only uttered in an effort to control him, and abandoned when he had nothing the _brother_ wanted. Practicality was greatly to be preferred.

_Natasha Romanov was intensely practical._

_Annie and her friends… were not._

His thoughts were interrupted by movement at the far end of the chamber. Loki turned toward the opening of a heavy iron door. Two figures entered: the tall figure, masked and caped, of Dr. Doom, and a small slender one Loki recognized as one of the other creatures who had encountered the rhinoceros charm in the street outside the little house. 

Loki clasped his hands behind his back, inclined his head, and watched them come. The two newcomers approached the glass, stopped a few feet away, and stood in silence for a moment. They appeared to be waiting for Loki to speak first. 

Loki, in his turn, was perfectly willing to be silent. In the first place, he was not yet sure how he wished to play this situation. Previously, with the Avengers, his choice had been straightforward: say whatever vicious or outlandish thing necessary to draw the Avengers' ire and keep it focused on himself. He was, at the time, still so furiously angry in truth that viciousness was easy to muster. After so many centuries of careful self-control, and two or three more of being broken into manageable pieces, he found himself with more than enough rage to vent in a series of explosions. 

Tactically, he thought his efforts had borne at least a little fruit. Even at the time he had been aware Romanov was less frightened than she pretended, but disgust and anger would be another matter. He wondered whether Thor had been reminded of the moment on the Bifrost, when Loki had uttered (rather more ambiguous) threats to provoke him. The woman involved would be dead for centuries now and perhaps her face was difficult for Thor to remember, but Loki had no doubt he would remember the threats, the irrefutable evidence that his faithful stooge was faithful no longer.

Any satisfaction at having finally done something to hold the golden prince's attention had swiftly dissipated, and now Loki felt nothing as he recalled the incident. Either incident. At the time he had needed to make Thor fight him-- _hit him--_ and if the mortal woman had not existed he would have said something else equally outrageous. On the second occasion, Romanov had simply happened to be the one there to hear him. Had one of the others been assigned to interview him, he would have thought of something appropriately offensive to say to them. 

On both those prior occasions he had known what effect he wanted to produce, and words of violence and hatred had suited his purpose. Now, he simply did not know. He certainly had better sense than to pretend to agree with anything Doom proposed-- the last thing he needed was to become too deeply embroiled before rescue came-- but escalating the situation seemed unwise as well. If Doom became really angry and decided to apply force, well-- 

He had rather expected Fury to attempt something of the sort, actually. In spite of his own recent past, the prospect had not really frightened him. Fury and his minions were mortal, and he had little to fear from whatever they called torture. Eventually they would tire, or perhaps they would kill him, or the Chitauri strike force would interrupt them. One way or another, it would end. Doom, with his command of magic, was too much like the Other for comfort. Loki was not interested in exploring whatever other options beyond "stopping" and "death" the sorcerer might have available to him. 

Really, all things considered, the best plan seemed to be to play for time. That being the case, the longer Doom chose to stand there looking threatening, the better Loki's ends were served.

Before the silence could turn into a power play, Doom spoke:

"Welcome. I am Victor von Doom, ruler of this land." He gestured toward the slender man. "This is my… associate, Mr. Edgar Wyndham." The slender man bowed slightly, and Loki stiffly nodded. Doom went on, "We have been greatly looking forward to making your acquaintance."

Loki permitted himself a small smile. "Indeed. Perhaps you will pardon me for saying, the circumstances of this meeting might easily be improved upon."

Doom made an ironic little half-bow, rather as he had when conceding defeat to the rhinoceros. "Alas, your… _escorts…_ have been an impediment to, shall we say, a meeting of the minds. And I really do wish to speak seriously with you. My colleague and I have a proposal for you to consider." The mask concealed any of the helpful little tells that gave away even the most accomplished liar, but Loki still felt confident in assuming that last remark was a lie. 

"Will your _proposal_ involve permitting me to leave this cell?" Loki asked. He knew the answer would be _no,_ but it seemed a reasonable enough request to make-- so reasonable that it might be suspicious if he did not. 

"Sadly, no," Doom replied, sounding not exactly grief-stricken in spite of his words. "I realize our approach to you has been somewhat unconventional, but I feel sure we can come to some understanding." He stepped forward, bending slightly at the waist as if to share a confidence, and went on, "You are meant for far greater things than this." 

Loki suddenly found he had to work quite hard to keep his revulsion off his face. 

_Both of you were born to be kings._

Even if Doom's words had not reeked with falsehood and betrayal, even if the slender figure beside him had not carried the tension of lies and distrust, even if Loki had not been brought here limp and senseless, to awaken lying on the floor of the cell-- 

Even if none of that had been true, he would still have been repelled by the lying pretense, implying some future reward in return for obedience now, for _use_ now. He had far too much experience of _that_ not to recognize it now.

Almost he preferred the pure violence and coercion of the Other and his kind.

Loki managed a tight-lipped little smile. "And what _greater things_ would these be?"

Too late, he heard the edge in his own voice. Doom took a step backward, squaring his shoulders. 

"I perceive you are tired. Rest now-- " this to a man in a bare cell-- "and we shall speak at greater length in due course," the masked man said coolly. _Remain here alone and recognize your helplessness,_ he meant. Aware he had made a mistake and trying not to do anything to compound it, Loki stood without speaking and watched the two go.

The steel door clanged shut. Loki inhaled through his nostrils, exhaled slowly and carefully, and began to turn toward the back of the cell.

A sharp whisper arrested him:

"Loki!" 

A very _familiar_ sharp whisper. Affecting unconcern, Loki continued the movement and resumed his pacing. Without moving his lips, he uttered a sharp whisper of his own:

"Annie, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you," she explained, which really explained nothing. "I can do that. It's hard to explain."

"You will be caught," Loki protested, trying to keep his feelings off his face. "The Doombots-- "

"-- Don't seem to be able to see me," Annie interrupted. "I think it's because they're machines, and they're not programmed to be able to sense ghosts." She went on quickly, "I know Doom and Wyndham would be able to, but it turns out if I concentrate on not being seen, I turn invisible. I didn't know I could do that."

"It sounds a useful skill," Loki agreed through stiff lips. 

"So I've been looking around," Annie explained, speaking very quickly. "We aren't in Scotland anymore. I think we might be in Latveria, where Doom comes from-- "

"He named himself ruler of this land," Loki remembered.

"Latveria, then," Annie nodded. Her tone became apologetic. "Loki, I don't think I can get into the cell with you, past all that magic." Loki shrugged infinitesimally-- this was no surprise. "But I can move around the castle and the town, and maybe I can find a way to help you get out of here." She hesitated. "I know it's not a lot."

_Not a lot._

Perhaps not, compared to an army with banners. But he was not alone.

~oOo~

Thor, on the principle that house matters were no business of his, retreated to a corner of the briefing room while George and Mitchell tried to explain things to Nina. Ordinarily, cowardice was the last thing you'd accuse Thor of, but Loki's housemates planned to remember this moment for future reference. 

House matters obviously were Loki's business, but under the circumstances his housemates didn't object to Thor removing his brother from the line of fire as well. The two brothers watched from a relatively safe distance while the other two floundered. 

"Well," George began nervously, "obviously you know about, about the second Loki. And the fact Dr. Doom wants to use him for something."

"Doom and his _allies,"_ Nina clarified. Which of course was the point they were going to talk about right now, but George and Mitchell-- and Loki from across the room-- winced.

"Yes," George said. "It's the allies we wanted to talk to you about. They're-- " With the air of someone ripping a plaster off a wound, he blurted out, "-- vampires."

_"Vampires?"_ Nina repeated incredulously, then looked around at the others to see whether they were having her on. "You're joking. Vampires don't ex-- "

The faces around her looked utterly serious. Two of them belonged to superpowered aliens, one of whom was a sorcerer. Nina hesitated, obviously reconsidering her protest. 

"What about Annie?" she asked in a small voice. 

"Annie's a ghost," George replied, sounding panicky but determined. "That's how she could disappear, she does that, and we figure she went after Loki, to see if she can help him."

Nina visibly took a moment to compose herself while the others tried not to look anxious. 

When she turned to Loki, it was clear from her expression that she was trying very hard to control herself. In a dangerously calm voice-- Thor involuntarily shifted to put himself between Nina and his brother, and then looked as though he felt extremely foolish, although he stayed where he was-- she said, 

"And you involved George in all this? You and Annie? You, you brought this on him? And Mitchell," she added, as an afterthought.

George gaped, Loki looked reflexively guilty, and Mitchell quickly held up his hands. 

"Nina, wait a minute. There's a lot… there are things we haven't told you."

Nina raised her eyebrows. _"More_ things?" she demanded. 

Mitchell smiled winsomely, but gave it up when he realized Nina was having none of it and explained, 

"All right. We told you that George and I were already sharing the house when Loki came. That's true. But what we didn't tell you is that Annie was there all along. It was her house in the first place. She, she lived there, and she died there. It's just that until recently humans couldn't see her."

Nina frowned, in concentration this time. "So Loki could see her?" she guessed. "And he told you about her?"

"Yes," Loki began, trying to salvage the situation, then quieted when both Mitchell and George shook their heads. 

"It's time we were honest," Mitchell said firmly. He looked very hard at George, who gulped. 

"We could see Annie the whole time," George said, rather breathlessly. "She was the one who brought Loki into the house, she could tell he needed us and she convinced-- she made Mitchell and me see that."

Nina's face went perfectly blank. "You could see her the whole time. Are you wizards, too?"

"No," George squeaked. 

"I'm a vampire," Mitchell spoke up, giving George time to gather his nerve. "That's how we got involved in vampire politics in the first place, because of me trying to separate myself from the other vampires."

Nina wasn't distracted. "George?" she prompted quietly. 

George went crimson. In a miserable little voice, he confessed, "I'm a werewolf."

Nina's expression didn't change. For a long moment, nobody moved. Nina opened her mouth, closed it, pressed her fingertips to her lips. She never took her eyes off George's face, and it was abundantly clear she believed him. 

She took a step backward, held up her hands when George made a move toward her. He immediately froze.

"No," she said quietly. "I just… I need to… Excuse me." She made a blind rush for the door, fumbled for the handle, and let herself out of the room. The others stood listening to the sound of her footsteps fading away down the corridor. For a long moment nobody spoke. 

"Well," Mitchell said finally. "That… could have gone worse." 

George cast a furious glance at him and stalked out of the room.

Mitchell sighed. "And now it has."


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which everyone must wonder if there's an echo in here, Mitchell is at least as good a teacher as Barty Crouch, Jr, and Annie can do more than just offer tea and sympathy. (Although obviously she's very good at that, too.)
> 
> **_Warnings:_** Much of what we see of Latverian geography, both physical and political, will be made up of whole cloth with a little assistance from various wikis and websites. Also, for one crucial point I've decided the Latverian language bears significant similarities to Romanian, at least as rendered through Google Translate. Sorry to any devoted fans of Dr. Doom if all this contradicts canon, and to linguists for linguistics. Alternate universes!

Mitchell, Thor and Loki were obviously concerned about what might happen next between George and Nina, but it seemed polite to leave them alone for now, to allow them time to work things out for themselves. 

Well, that was Mitchell's argument. It was not universally convincing.

"You simply do not wish to face Nina's wrath," Thor accused.

"Yes, well, I haven't lived a hundred years as a vampire by being _stupid,"_ Mitchell retorted. Thor let out a huff of laughter, then turned to his brother. 

"Are you ready to return to the others?" he asked. Thor was kind, but he was not stupid either, and he knew perfectly well they had no more time to waste on cosseting Loki's feelings. As did Loki himself, and he was grateful to his brother for allowing him a few minutes to both vent his distress and regain his composure. 

And in fact, possibly because of the sheer force of the explosion-- truly, the outburst had felt exactly like the one in the weapons vault back in Asgard, and Loki was more than relieved it had a different outcome-- he felt quite calm now. He had needed the release for his emotions, and then he had needed to be comforted, and both had happened, and now-- except for the embarrassment, which he was trying not to think about-- he felt able to go on to dealing with whatever must happen next. 

"Yes, I am quite all right," Loki replied, resorting to a Midgardian expression. He offered Thor and Mitchell a rather sheepish smile. "But perhaps I might wash my face first?"

By the time the three rejoined the others, Thor had managed to complete his aborted explanations, and Loki felt ready to contribute to the Avengers' efforts to rescue the other Loki. By which, of course, he meant _rescue Annie, and incidentally the other Loki who happened to be with her._ He did not say as much out loud, but of course there was no need, not to Mitchell and Thor. 

He really would make every effort to befriend the other Loki, he promised himself. He knew himself to be a jealous, despicably selfish creature, but he also retained vivid memories of his own arrival here on Midgard, and his bewildered gratitude at being offered badly-needed help and sympathy. It was not fair to begrudge the other Loki the same. 

_Nothing is being taken away from me,_ Loki reminded himself fiercely. It did not _feel_ that way, but there was a difference between the way things _felt_ and the way they _were,_ and among his failings was a difficulty in telling the difference between the two. If the other Loki really had taken his place, would Thor and his housemates have concerned themselves with his breakdown?

They would not, but yet they had. He was being ridiculous, Loki told himself-- and suddenly believed it. In an odd way the idea was steadying: he could not always trust his own impressions, but he _could_ trust Thor, and his own friends. 

Which was at least part of the reason he made sure to let the other two enter the conference room first. The Fury standing at the head of the table cast a sharp look in their direction and Loki had to steel himself so as not to flinch away from it. At the same time, he was oppressively aware of the other Thor, sitting down the far end of the table and pretending to study his own hands. The other Thor's presence was literally oppressive, like a weight. 

All living beings had an animating spirit-- Loki's friend Catherine the witch, who told fortunes for mortals, called it an _aura._ Loki lacked her skill in reading the _aura_ to determine the path of a mortal's life, but he could certainly use it to identify the number of... souls, for lack of a better word, in a given place, or to find someone he knew. 

At the moment he was disoriented-- and more than a little alarmed-- to realize the humans, even the enhanced members of the group, all seemed to share an aura with their counterpart from the other reality. Surely there had to be differences between them-- they must have separate traits apart from their attitude toward himself and these would be reflected in the energy around them-- but just for the moment Loki felt as though he was in a well, with amplified sounds echoing around him, and he could not tell which Steve or Tony or Clint was the _right_ one. 

Since a mistake in identification might have very serious consequences for himself, this was a bit of confusion he really could not afford to let stand. The problem was that, comparatively speaking, humans had quite subtle auras, so recognizing the differences between them took a little effort. 

Thor, on the other hand...

One thing was certain, Loki would never make a mistake about which Thor was which. Both auras were powerful, and they did indeed have points in common-- _courage,_ and _honour,_ and _heroism--_ but there were differences related to the details of _who they were_ that meant Loki, now his magic was recovering and perhaps even without it, could tell the difference at fifty paces with his eyes closed. That was a reassuring thought. 

This much established, Loki now took more notice of the occupants of the room, and realized both George and Nina were here as well, incongruously bookended by Bruce and Dr. Banner (Loki could not immediately tell which was which.) There would not have been enough time for them to properly work through their differences, and George's desolate expression suggested Nina might have refused to speak to him at all. Loki struggled against the instinct to be really angry at her, for treating George so: it was hardly unreasonable for her to be shocked and frightened by his confession, and even short acquaintance with Nina was enough to suggest that she would deal with fear by becoming angry. Surely, though, she would forgive him?

That line of thinking was interrupted by the entrance of Agent Maria Hill, who did not react in any way to the presence of the second set of Avengers. 

"We haven't been able to track the Doombots," she announced, without preamble. Apparently SHIELD was choosing to take the new Avengers' offer of assistance at face value. Well, they were giving the second Loki the benefit of the doubt, and had done so for the first. Loki could hardly complain. 

Hill was still talking:

"They showed up on radar and other surveillance systems when there was a cloud of them, but once they were out over the North Sea they split up into smaller groups on different headings, and shortly after that they dispersed entirely. In ones and twos they're too small to track. The drone we sent down to investigate the suspected residence detected no signs of life-- or movement," she added, clearly in deference to the nature of Doom's allies. 

"So if Doom was there in the first place, he isn't anymore," Fury said. 

Hill nodded. "It's possible he's still in the UK, which would make sense if he was planning to ally himself with the British vampire community-- "

"It would be interesting to know how he found them," remarked Natasha Romanov-- the wrong one, Loki thought, since she was not sitting next to the Clint Barton Loki knew by his clothing was the right one. 

"Knowing the Old Ones, it's entirely possible _they_ found _him,"_ Mitchell pointed out. "This wouldn't be the first time a group of vampires got ideas about power and conquest."

"Charming." The voice belonged to Tony Stark, and both of him wore identical sardonic expressions. 

"Yes, well, vampires used to be humans, and there are some human impulses we've kept," Mitchell replied coolly. To the rest of the group, he went on, "The Old Ones aren't based in the UK, so Edgar Wyndham could have gone-- or been sent-- to Latveria to present a proposition to Doom as easily as the other way around. Clint's briefed you on the possibility of Mr. Snow getting involved?" There were general nods around the table. "Good." 

"I also passed on the information Ivan gave us about vampires' mind-control abilities," Clint spoke up. "Loki suggested you might be able to provide some training in resisting them?"

Suddenly what had seemed, in the little black car with Clint, like a reasonable suggestion, felt to Loki like a betrayal. He held his breath, but Mitchell nodded, looking thoughtful. 

"I'm nowhere near as powerful as an Old One," he warned, "but yeah, that sounds like a good idea. You should probably at least know what to be on your guard for." He glanced at Loki. "Good thinking."

Loki smiled tensely in return, trying not to look as relieved as he felt. 

~oOo~

Annie was fairly confident she could not be seen by either Doombots or surveillance devices-- she'd been invisible to SHIELD's CCTV during the adventure when she'd helped the Avengers take their agency back, and anyway if JARVIS couldn't sense her presence she was pretty sure nothing could-- but she was still cautious as she explored the castle. After a few months of being fully visible it took concentration to become invisible again and stay that way, so she was very careful to just stick close to the walls and in the shadows whenever she could. Which was much easier in this old stone castle than it would be in a shiny new facility like the ones SHIELD occupied, and Annie blessed Doom's melodramatic streak. 

She particularly blessed it when the considered that, if this Loki shared any qualities with hers at all, she suspected a sense of drama-- to be kind about it, and why wouldn't she be?-- was one of them. The rhinoceros charm was only the most obvious recent manifestation of her Loki's theatrical tendencies. Both Lokis, if she was reading the situation correctly, had committed the most flamboyant crimes imaginable, which-- she hoped-- suggested this one would understand how to handle Doom and his diva tendencies. As long as he kept his head he should be okay, and surely knowing he wasn't really alone would help? 

Leaving Loki had been painful, although he understood she was going on what Mitchell called "a recce" to try and find a way to either get Loki out or the Avengers, when they arrived, in. She had actually left the room and zapped herself back twice, just to test whether her ability to anchor herself to someone she knew still worked through Doom's magic. It did, which was reassuring-- the ability was only effective over short distances, but from experience Annie knew that as long as she was in the castle she'd be able to get back to Loki. She'd done her best to explain that to him, and now could only hope he remembered it-- and believed her-- if things started to get scary for him. 

In the meantime, she had escape and evasion routes to find. Or perhaps she should say escape and _in_ vasion routes. 

Annie had no difficulty passing through walls, and these massive old stone ones gave her no more trouble than any others. If she thought very hard about being invisible, she could easily go blundering about in the dungeon until she chanced on a way out, and never worry about being spotted by human servants or guards if there happened to be any down here.

Of course, if she did _that_ she wouldn't have a clue how to get the Avengers to Loki by the fastest route, or any routes to Doom's throne room or control room or whatever you wanted to call it. Annie wasn't a warrior and she wasn't much help to the Avengers in a fight, but in terms of sneaking and spying there were things she was even better at than Natasha. Well, _thing,_ there was _one thing_ she could do better than anyone else in the group, and right now she was doing it. 

The dungeon room where Loki was being held had no windows, and neither did the corridor in which Annie found herself after passing through the heavy door. The air smelled stale, too. Interior, then, probably in the very heart of the depths of the castle. Annie supposed that made sense, it wasn't like those long-ago kings would make their torture chamber easily accessible to a rescue party. 

She certainly hoped Loki didn't think of _that_ before she got back to him. 

The interior rooms and corridors of the castle were a confusing warren, so finding her way out took Annie a long time and made her feel a little like a mouse in an experimental maze. Several times she had to stop and reach out toward Loki, to orient herself to her starting point so she could figure out which way to turn next. Eventually, though, she reached a heavy oaken door that opened into an underground-- stream? Moat? Water, anyway, and at the end of the water, light.

Which might mean that, in olden times, supplies or prisoners or what-have-you were brought into the castle via underground stream. _Upstream_ into the castle, she noted. 

_Just like in The Hobbit,_ Annie remembered, and then had a rogue moment of imagining herself and Loki escaping _downstream_ in barrels.

She wasn't a bit surprised to find, when she got to the light at the end of the tunnel, that it was blocked by a very modern, solid steel grate. That was no inconvenience to her, and she suspected it wouldn't stop Clint or Natasha for more than a few minutes if they were prepared for it. She couldn't feel any magic protecting it, although of course it could be connected to any number of alarm systems. She couldn't _feel_ anything, an electrical current or whatever, flowing through it, but that didn't mean there was nothing there. 

Well then, she would warn whoever came to bring some kind of instrument to check for electrical currents before they tried to blow or break through the steel gate. 

_Wait, how am I going to get a message to the Avengers?_

She hadn't exactly thought about that part. 

_Deal with that when the time comes,_ Annie told herself. She'd figure something out. 

Or, failing that, she'd figure out a way to get around the spells on Loki's cell, and then the two of them would escape by themselves. Right. 

Annie slipped past the steel grate, and then a second grate, and then she used her newfound ability to becomes invisible at will to good effect, concealing herself from any chance human eyes while she walked beside the stream away from the castle. 

Castle Doom was not exactly the subject of picture postcards, but Annie had looked it up since becoming friendly with the Avengers, and she wasn't surprised to find herself on a cliff overlooking the town of Doomstadt. 

_Doomstadt. Honestly._ Loki-- either Loki-- had nothing to teach Doom about melodrama or self-aggrandizement, that was for sure. 

The castle was, as noted, perched on a hill above the town, and probably when it was built a few centuries ago there had been a lot more distance between the two. It was pretty clear, though, the castle had never been exactly inaccessible to the town, which made sense. Back a few centuries ago castles were generally designed with the idea of providing a place for the townspeople to shelter from invaders if necessary. In the intervening years Doomstadt had grown, and now the town centre was a lot closer to the castle than it probably had been in the early days. 

At first blush it seemed strange for a supervillain to let the civilian population get so close to his lair, but Dr. Doom was an unusual supervillain in a number of ways. 

For one thing, although he was an absolute monarch, he was actually kind of a benevolent one, at least as far as Latveria itself was concerned. As dictators went there were plenty of worse ones out there, and the people of Latveria seemed, on the whole, to be fairly content with him. People like Dr. Xavier of the X-Men had investigated, and it didn't seem that Doom was influencing the population with magic or mind control, his people seemed genuinely fine with him as their leader. 

The matter of his criminal activities in the outside world didn't seem to worry the Latverians too much (and, well, there was a whole lot of history, some of it recent, of citizens of Britain and other countries not exactly getting all up in arms over things _their_ governments did to and in far-away places.) Their support for their leader afforded him some protection from organizations like the Avengers. 

That and the fact Latveria had no extraditions treaties with anyone, and regardless of the fact the lack of treaties was mostly for the protection of the guy who refused to sign them in the first place, that also meant it was more trouble than SHIELD considered worthwhile to go into the country and try to bring him out. 

The second reason Doom might have let the town grow so close to his castle was a more obviously supervillainous one, and Annie wondered whether the people of the town had ever thought of it: the Avengers couldn't always avoid collateral damage when _they_ were attacked first, but they certainly did their best not to cause it. Doom was, in effect, using Doomstadt as a human shield against superhero agencies. Annie wondered whether the people of the town knew that. 

She stayed invisible as she walked down the road from the castle to the heart of the town. Either the town had been growing toward the castle for a long time, or else Latverian urban planners went in for the vintage look. Although the people walking along the street looked modern, all the shops and houses she could see as she walked along the cobbled street looked like they'd been built round about the time Shakespeare was a youngster. 

It wasn't going to be easy for anyone to get up to the entrance to the tunnel without being spotted. In fact, it probably couldn't be done by daylight. Doom, Annie reflected, was probably counting on a certain amount of help from everyday Latverians to watch his back. 

Of course, the Avengers would be able to figure out a way in, if only Annie could figure out a way to let them know where she and Loki were. As she chewed that over she automatically stepped back against the wall of a building to get out of the way of a group of people coming out the door. A woman still inside waved a friendly goodbye, and then stepped back and locked the door. 

Annie didn't know much about Doomstadt, but today was Saturday, and this seemed early for the shops to be shutting. She automatically looked up at the sign above the door. 

_Bibliotecă Publică Cynthia von Doom._

Annie didn't speak any Latverian, but _publica_ seemed easy enough: _public._ Public… something. 

And then she remembered that in French, "bibliotheque" meant "library." _Public library?_ She had no idea who "Cynthia von Doom" was or had been, but it seemed likely she was a relative of Dr. Doom, perhaps his mother or some ancestor, which also seemed to support the idea this was a government building. Annie moved closer to a window and peered through. She could see book shelves, and comfortable chairs and tables for sitting and reading or doing other work.

These were of little interest to her, because she could also see tables with computers on them-- the woman who had locked the door was now going around shutting them down and turning off lights. Annie watched her step into an office and come out carrying a light coat and a handbag. A moment later, all the lights doused, she let herself out the door and locked it behind herself. 

A moment after _that,_ Annie had zapped herself inside the library.

Invisible she might be herself, but Annie took care to choose a computer on the far side of the common area, with a screen that wasn't visible from the door or any windows. It was still bright enough outside that she hoped nobody would spot a glow where no glow should be. Anyway, it wasn't as if many people (who weren't George or Loki) would be _window-shopping_ at the _library._

The computer booted up right away, and that was when she hit the first snag in her plan: the login screen that came up wanted the user's library card number and PIN. Annie didn't curse, but she did let out an aggravated "Hmmm" as she tried to think what to do. There were two computers set up as standing stations, and Annie thought those might be available to people who didn't have library cards. She couldn't be sure because she couldn't read the Latverian-language information cards next to the computers-- and anyway, their screens were angled so that anyone glancing in from the street would immediately see the glow if she switched one on. Using those would be a last resort. 

After a minute it occurred to her that most library users probably didn't know their card number off by heart, they probably had to bring out the card and refer to it while they logged in. 

And of those users who brought out their cards, surely some of them didn't immediately tuck the card safely away in pocket or wallet the moment they were finished. In fact, perhaps some of them kept the card handy in case they wanted to place a hold on a book or do something else with the library system. 

And of _those_ users… surely some of them dropped or lost or walked away without their cards-- ?

The counter where the circulation staff checked out books was a few steps away. Annie slipped behind and methodically began to search shelves and cubbies. After a moment she was rewarded: on one of the shelves, next to a cup full of pencils and a stack of paper slips, she found a tiny brown envelope bulging with lost library cards. Maybe the staff waited for their owners to come looking for them, or maybe they had a specific day when they sent out messages or something. 

Regardless, Annie knelt on the floor and tipped out the cards. Then she patiently sorted through them, looking at every one, until--

Success: she found a card whose owner apparently could not remember his or her PIN, or else considered it was not sensitive information. Written neatly in black marker, underneath the card number, was a string of four digits that Annie very much hoped was the account's PIN. She put the rest of the cards back where they belonged and carried her prize to the computer she wanted to use. 

A moment later she was looking at a welcome screen written in Latverian. The browser icon, fortunately, looked the same as it did back home, and when she typed in the address for her Web-based email program the computer recognized it. The login screen for her email program also came up in Latverian, but when Annie entered her own username and password in the fields she recognized, her account displayed in English. 

Annie opened a new message, addressing it to Loki, Mitchell, George, and every single Avengers-related person she could find in her address book. And then she began typing as quickly as she could. 

~oOo~

Agent Hill had returned to her duties, including the effort to determine where the Doombots had gone. The rest of the group remained in the conference room for a brief session with Mitchell on vampire mind-control. Loki, since it had been his suggestion, volunteered to go first. 

"Okay," said Mitchell, looking rather anxious, "let's do this: the first time, I want you to just relax and let me take over. Try to concentrate on feeling the control settling over you, so you know what it feels like. I'm only going to do that once, because this kind of power can be insidious-- after it's been successfully applied to someone a few times, it's progressively easier to do." Loki nodded, trying to look confident, and vaguely aware the second Clint Barton seemed uncomfortable indeed. Mitchell went on, "After everyone's had a chance to see what it's like, we'll work on fighting back."

"Very well," Loki agreed. He made an effort, and relaxed the guards around his mind. 

"Great," Mitchell said, "just listen to my voice." His lilt was notably more pronounced than usual, and Loki focused on it. Mitchell chattered away for some minutes, Loki concentrating as hard as he could, and presently he began to feel a sense of warmth and relaxation, like floating in bathwater. "Touch your nose," Mitchell invited. 

Loki's hand was in the air when he realized what a silly thing he was about to do, and giggled. The sense of warmth fled and he returned to himself with what amounted to a bump, blinking as he looked around.

Mitchell was grinning at him. "Honestly, mate, I thought you'd never go under. And I could feel you trying to help me, too." Loki started to apologize and Mitchell waved it away. "No, I kind of figured it wouldn't work on you or Thor. But I wanted you to know what it felt like in case you run into Mr. Snow. He might just be powerful enough to pull you under."

Loki nodded, and Thor took his turn. 

The rest of the session was extremely interesting to observe, for a rather disquieting value of "interesting." It began innocuously enough: Thor, who did not try to cooperate, presented a greater difficulty to Mitchell than had Loki, and George was exempted altogether, werewolves being immune to at least the normal powers of vampires. Loki was fascinated, if unsettled, by the experiment. He could of course use his magic to overpower someone-- he had once compelled Tony Stark to remain seated while he, Loki, told him a number of things he felt the inventor needed to know-- but that was the magical equivalent of physically pinning the person in place, not overpowering his will. His powers of persuasion were limited to ordinary manipulations, and he always succeeded best when the target was already inclined to the path Loki wished him to take. Mitchell, on the other hand, really was like Kaa in _The Jungle Book,_ except he did not sing a little song to serve as warning to his prey. 

The experiences of the human members of the group were downright alarming. If anyone had been inclined to underestimate Mitchell's powers based on the example of Thor and Loki, they were disabused of the notion when first Fury, then Natasha, and then Agent Coulson went under almost immediately and did not rouse until Mitchell released them. Even Mitchell seemed rather disconcerted by his own success. Steve was a little more difficult, but still not anything like the challenge Loki had anticipated. The others who volunteered did no better. 

In fact, the only one of the humans who presented Mitchell with any real problems was Tony (Stark refused to participate) whose mind was so quick and-- in the absence of an invention to work on-- so scattered that Mitchell claimed it was like trying to pick up a blob of mercury with chopsticks. Mitchell finally resorted to holding Tony by the chin and compelling him (Tony) to look deep into his (Michell's) eyes-- at which Tony succumbed immediately.

Really, it was enough to make Loki wish to compel all his friends to carry sharpened stakes seasoned with garlic butter every time they left the house. 

By the time everyone had a turn who wanted one, the humans were understandably apprehensive while Mitchell, for his part, looked as though he would be the better for a cup of tea, or perhaps a beer. 

"Okay," said the vampire, "I think we should all take a little break, and then, if any of you want, maybe we can try again. I'll hold back this time so you can practice pushing me away, all right?" 

There were a few nods, but before anyone could speak up there came a tiny cacophony of buzzes and chimes and chirps as half a dozen communication devices simultaneously received a message. 

Loki reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_ ** _In which one Loki gathers information, the other considers arachnophobia, and Ivan has a cup of tea. Also, we clarify a minor point of Asgardian politics for this universe._

Tired he might be, and with a worsening headache, but Loki's hearing was still exceedingly sharp. He heard the footsteps approach, then stop outside the cell. He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, facing the heavy iron door as it opened. 

If he was being truthful-- which he occasionally was, at least in the safety of his own mind -- Loki could admit he felt at rather a disadvantage in the Midgardian attire he had borrowed from the other Loki. Its comfort could not be denied, nor its ease and freedom of movement-- really, in that sense this clothing would be far more suitable to his usual style of combat than his accustomed garb-- but in terms of making himself appear intimidating to an enemy, thin soft fabric that conformed to his body rather than camouflaging its deficiencies had little to recommend it. 

However, at the moment that was rather less a concern, since the footsteps he heard were not the heavy iron tread of Dr. Doom or his mechanical soldiers. Edgar Wyndham, smaller and slighter, moved like the predator he was: softly, almost silently, but still with arrogance. He would find a match in Loki, both in arrogance and predatory instinct. Also, as a creature of Midgard, Wyndham's clothing was similar to Loki's-- more formal, perhaps, rather like the glamour Loki had placed upon himself the night he retrieved the item needed by Barton-- so he did not feel the lack of cape or armour nearly so much as he did facing Doom or a superhero of this realm. 

Wyndham's clothing looked rather like that worn by Coulson, the quiet man who had accompanied Thor to the little house, the morning after the incident in the night. Loki brushed aside the memory of the man-- there was _something_ about Coulson, something uneasy he should recall, but just now he had not the leisure to think on it. 

"Edgar Wyndham," he addressed the vampire, tilting his head in a parody of innocent enquiry as the creature strode toward the cell. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

Wyndham offered a tight-lipped smirk as he stopped short of the glass.

"We were unable to speak, earlier, with Victor present," he said in a soft, insinuating voice. The implication was that what Wyndham would say was not for Doom's ears... but _Victor_ was familiar. The use of his forename could be contemptuous or intimate-- deliberate or unconscious-- and Loki would be wise to remember it. 

_Lies, there are lies here, careful, be careful._

Loki raised his eyebrows in a finely-calibrated display of cautious interest mingled with suspicion. 

"Of what did you wish to speak?" he asked. 

"Victor's... plans. This little country is not enough for him," Wyndham explained. "He wishes to expand his empire-- with help from me, and that of my kind. What he doesn't realize is, the humans are hardly worth consideration. Insects. _Prey."_ The thin smile grew a little broader. "Doom himself is human, you see, with many of the limitations of his species. You and I are...something more." 

Loki carefully repressed his natural reaction to this... _creature..._ claiming kinship with himself. He had told the Avengers he was a _god_ \-- hyperbole, of course, calculated to draw their ire-- although truly, the comparison between the ordinary run of humans and his kind--

_Not your kind, monster--_

Silencing the voice, Loki took a slow step toward the glass, head cocked. 

"Are we indeed?" he said, his tone inviting further confidences. He was not such a fool as to trust the creature, but here was an intriguing mixture of truth and falsehood: Wyndham certainly held himself above humans. He probably also felt genuine resentment toward Doom, thought his ally a fool. He almost certainly underestimated him. 

_However._ Underneath all of this was the thread of a lie, and Loki was not himself such a fool as to ignore it. 

It was always easier to make someone believe a lie that incorporated a degree of truth, or that the victim already _wanted_ to believe. It was how fools were trapped. Thor, for instance: he had always chosen to believe in his once-brother's love and loyalty. It suited his purpose and his pride. The love and loyalty had been real, once. But Loki's jealousy, desire for his own share of acclaim, wish to step out of the golden prince's shadow-- those too had been real, and those Thor ignored. Being of no use to him he pretended they did not exist, persuaded himself they were not real, and continued to do so until they were all that was left between them.

Wyndham's purpose, now, was to cultivate Loki's willing cooperation. The vampire's scorn for the humans was real, and probably for Doom as well, but that did not mean it was _all_ there was to consider. It did not mean he was here to offer Loki a genuine partnership, or that he would betray Doom one moment before it suited his own purpose. 

Or that he would not betray Loki as well, in the same breath. 

_Divide and conquer._ It was the oldest and simplest rule of combat or manipulation. Only in this case, the two partners were dividing _in order to_ conquer. The vampire was here to present himself as an alternative to Doom, a more palatable option for Loki. An _ally._

_It was how fools were trapped._

Loki was therefore on his guard and distrusted every word uttered by the vampire. At the same time he was aware that any scraps of intelligence he could gather might be of value to the Avengers, and so count in his favour at some later date. 

He focused all his attention on Wyndham, who was now expanding upon his point:

"Vampires represent the natural evolution of humans," he was saying, "and so we are above them. Humans are above the apes, and vampires above humans. As man was given dominion over every living thing that moves upon the earth, so do vampires have dominion over the humans."

Loki nodded solemnly, as well he might, since he had heard such speech before. So might Odin Allfather speak of Asgard's dominion over the rest of the Nine. So might Odin speak of realms and worlds outside the Nine, were he only aware of them. The points of similarity between the two were obvious.

_And a king ain't satisfied 'til he rules everything._

The vampires were just as limited in their imagination, or at least their reach, as Doom himself. Loki had no intention of permitting himself to become a tool for their use _(twice was more than enough)_ but outright refusal would be both tactless and of little use to his own al-- to the Avengers. 

"It is said that the Aesir hold sway over the other worlds that make up the Nine," he remarked. And then-- this was perhaps a risk, but Doom must have known his history, would not have chosen him for no reason and had probably confided this far in the vampire-- he went on, "In my own dimension, I sought to rule this world."

It was evident the vampire did indeed know of Loki's past. The creature tried to keep satisfaction off his face-- pleasure in the failure of another. He did well, but could not quite conceal his thoughts from Loki. On the one hand it stung, a little, to know Wyndham was enjoying the thought of his catastrophe, gloating inside at the idea. 

On the other, of course, centuries' experience of being held in contempt had taught him the utility of being overlooked and underestimated. He very much doubted Wyndham or Doom would be quite such a fool as Thor-- whose casual assumption of the goodwill of others could be his greatest vulnerability, born as it was of a complete lack of interest in their own needs or desires-- but a very little contempt could still be enough of a chink to prove useful. 

"I was unsuccessful," Loki went on, in case the vampire had the sense not to bring up his own knowledge of the situation, to _rub it in,_ "and I believe it was because I lacked the right sort of allies. Mine were not of this-- of _that--_ realm, and so lacked knowledge of the defenders and lines of resistance we could expect." 

As he had hoped, for the fraction of an instant the tiniest flare of triumph showed in the vampire's face. Even another predator might have missed it, but Loki was now prey, and he could not afford to miss anything. This was what both Wyndham and Doom wished to hear, and that coupled with their arrogance could work in Loki's favour.

And then, because his original worry about becoming too far embroiled before his hoped-for rescuers arrived still applied, Loki drew back a little. He took refuge for a moment in what would appear to be perfect, painful honesty: 

"Those defenders were a great deal stronger and more resourceful than I had anticipated," he said, stepping back and turning away slightly as he did so, as if still ashamed to remember his own blunders. From the corner of his eye he could see the vampire permit himself a slightly less guarded instant of triumph. _Good._

Loki went on, "I have no desire to suffer a second defeat and imprisonment at their hands, nor to be handed over as a _pet_ \-- " and into that word he suffused all his anger at the realization his so-called _mother_ was in fact his _keeper--_ "to the creatures of this realm." He shrugged irritably, as though the comfortable shirt and soft jacket galled him, were emblems of his defeat rather than concrete reminders of help received, and then looked up at Wyndham. "I would avenge my humiliation, but I have no desire to suffer such a fate again. How can I be confident your plans will succeed? Have you an unlimited number of these mechanical soldiers?"

Wyndham smiled, a smug expression that warned Loki once again not to lower his guard. 

"You forget my people's contribution," the vampire told him. 

Aware he might not like the answer but in need of the information, Loki asked, 

"And what will that be?"

Wyndham's smile widened and he walked slowly forward, toward the glass, lowering his head slightly but continuing to focus his gaze upon Loki. Who, partly because he did not wish to show weakness and partly because there seemed to be a specific reason for this display, did not avert his gaze.

The feeling of warmth and calm stealing over him was so subtle that at first he did not realize what was happening. From far away he could hear a voice telling him to walk to the back of the cell and sit upon the floor, then to lie down flat on his back. 

The next thing he knew, he was aware of the cold of the floor through his clothing, found himself lying on the stone floor of the cell with no memory of having lain down. He sat up in confusion to find Wyndham standing over him on the other side of the glass. 

"We can be very... _persuasive,"_ the vampire smirked. He bowed ironically to Loki and walked briskly out of the dungeon, leaving the prisoner thoroughly chilled and just as apprehensive as he had obviously intended. 

Loki got slowly to his feet, wondering what course he should take that would reduce the possibility of Wyndham placing the spell on him again. Should he pretend to give in after all, or would Wyndham, like the Other, place him under control as a matter of course anyway? And exactly how much of Wyndham's attention would it take to maintain the spell on Loki? Could the vampire control an army of mindless puppets at once, or was it more individualized? 

This was not something Loki wanted to learn by practical demonstration.

He found himself wishing, very hard, that Annie would come back soon.

~oOo~

Loki looked up from his mobile, to find himself eye-to-eye with his brother. Thor, holding his own mobile in one hand, held up the other in a placating gesture. 

"Calm yourself, brother."

"I am perfectly calm," Loki replied, through gritted teeth. Beside him, Mitchell let out a sharp bark of nervous laughter, and Loki suddenly felt his shoulders unclench. In a slightly less frantic tone, he repeated, "I am calm. Mostly calm. Director Fury, have you received this message?"

"I'm looking at it," Fury replied, and in fact he was holding Tony's mobile as he spoke, while Tony peered over Natasha's shoulder. It was never wise to attempt to rush a decision from the director, so Loki reread the message while he awaited Fury's next words.

_Hi, it's Annie. I'm with Loki, Doom's taken us to Latveria. I'm pretty sure we're in Doomstadt-- I'm writing from what I think is a public library named after Cynthia von Doom, if that helps you check. Loki is being held in a dungeon under the castle, in a cell protected by spells. He can't get out but I can get you into the castle. I've found the way from the cell to a tunnel with an underground stream, like in The Hobbit. It's protected by two steel grates-- no magic on them, but I can't tell if there's electricity or anything like that. If a rescue team can get past the grates, I can lead them to Loki. I haven't thought of a way past the spells, though._

_I'll stay here in the library as long as I can and wait for an answer. Love to everyone, Annie._

"The central public library in Doomstadt is named for Doom's mother, Cynthia," Coulson spoke up. "There are a number of civic buildings named in her honour around the country, but that's the only library with her name on it."

"Clever Annie," Natasha said. "This sounds like a job for me."

"And for me," Loki added hastily, then glanced around anxiously, ready to argue if need be. 

"Sure you're up to it?" Fury asked. His tone was professional rather than solicitous, a leader ensuring his agent would not be a liability to the mission. It was reassuring in some obscure way. 

"Yes," Loki said firmly. "And, unless you propose to return to Bristol to fetch the witches, I am the only magical consultant you currently have."

"Any word from Strange?" Fury asked Coulson, and Loki felt deflated. Of course, Dr. Strange.

"Not a peep," Coulson replied. "I'm starting to think he's avoiding us. Or of course he could be off-planet for some reason."

"Thor, what about Asgard?" Fury asked next. "Any chance of help there?"

Thor shook his head. "Personally interested as _our father_ certainly is, _the Allfather_ will not interfere in what is a purely Midgardian quarrel. It was rather different when the threat came from alien invaders who also involved another of the Nine Realms in their schemes. This Dr. Doom is of Midgard, as are the vampires. There will be no objection to my brother and myself aiding you, but there will be no troops sent from Asgard."

Fury did not look surprised. He glanced a little further down the table. "Okay, Loki, you're up. Romanov's in charge of the mission, got that?" Loki nodded, with a meek expression that earned him a suspicious glance in return. Deciding that an expression of outraged innocence would only make matters worse, Loki folded his hands on the table before him and resisted the impulse to bombard Annie with messages that might confuse matters. 

"I'll go, too," Romanov-- the second Natasha-- said suddenly. The proper Natasha glanced at her and then looked to the real Fury for direction. 

The second Fury spoke. "Makes sense to me."

"Not if they're spotted," real-Fury pointed out. "As far as we know, unless they got it out of Loki-- the other Loki-- Doom and Wyndham aren't aware your team is in this reality. I'd hate to waste the element of surprise."

"We won't be spotted," Natasha said, and Romanov nodded. "And besides-- Loki, you can do a cloaking spell, right?"

"The difficulty is with the Doombots," Loki admitted. "When Agent Coulson and I investigated Doom's last Scottish lair, we learned that Doombots can sense the use of magic. We should therefore be sparing in its use, at least until it is of most advantage to us."

"Tony and I could create a diversion," Thor spoke up, and Loki turned toward him. "Not in Latveria," Thor went on, "in Scotland. We can investigate his most recent lairs in a noisy, obvious fashion, making him believe we do not yet realize where he is. This might lower his guard a little."

"You think he'd fall for that?" asked the second Fury. 

"Doom has a tendency to underestimate the intelligence of others," Thor pointed out. "It has long been his greatest weakness. I propose giving him something to underestimate."

"I think it's a good idea," Fury agreed.

"I'll go with Loki and Natasha-- the Natashas," Steve offered. "I'd go with Thor but I think that's a job for the guys who can fly." Registering the expressions on several faces around the table, Steve raised an eyebrow. "I can be sneaky if I want to." 

"Fine," the real Fury nodded. "Everyone else is on standby. You-- " he turned to Dunlap-- "report to medical. I assume it's in the same place as on your helicarrier. According to records the Dunlap from this reality is posted to Moscow now, so if anyone asks tell them you've been working on something classified. Obviously, most of the crew doesn't know there's a second set of Avengers in our reality, and we're keeping it that way for now."

"Sir," Dunlap nodded. 

"Actually," Nina spoke up suddenly, "if it's not against your regulations, I think I should go with him. I'm a nurse," she explained, as everyone turned to look at her. "I might as well make myself useful."

Fury, who knew all about George and Mitchell's jobs in the human world, looked to them and then, when they nodded, gestured to Nina to follow Dunlap. The two got to their feet, Dunlap turning for the door but pausing to wait for Nina.

Who, in a gesture that gave Loki a little flutter of hope, glanced at George with a twitch of her lips that might have been the beginnings of a smile, before following Dunlap out of the room. 

Fury turned back to the others. "Right. Let's get this show on the road."

~oOo~

"We don't need to be involved in this," Daisy argued, as Ivan dug out his mobile. 

"We're already involved," he pointed out. "Geoff, go make some more tea."

"I can think of something better for you than tea," Daisy pointed out. Ivan glanced at her but she was obviously not making an innuendo. He shook his head, and Geoff scuttled off to the bathroom with the kettle.

"Later," he said. "Right now Loki and that human are right: we need to keep a low profile for now. And I need to find out just how bad things are." He scrolled through his contacts and chose a number. A moment later he was speaking: "Kyle? It's Ivan... Yes, I'm all right... Loki, as a matter of fact... Yes, he's back. And I don't think he's very happy about Doom and his plans. Or his allies, if it comes to that... That's good to hear, I'm sure Loki will take it into consideration. How many do you reckon are with us?" This time the pause stretched out as Ivan listened, then crossed the room to rummage in the writing desk for a notepad of hotel stationery and a pen. He scribbled and made encouraging noises for a moment or two, before finally saying, "Right. I assume none of you are at your homes?... No, I don't want to know where you're staying. But we do need to meet. Do you remember the teashop Mitchell and his friends have started to visit so much?... Yes, there's definitely something supernatural about that woman. We'll meet there, all right?" Ivan paused to listen, then laughed. "Actually, I'm starting to believe tea is necessary to this process. Call the others, will you? I'll ring back in about an hour and tell you when to meet."

He rang off and accepted the cup of tea Geoff offered him. 

Then he pulled up his contacts list, chose another number, and connected. 

"Mitchell? It's Ivan."

~oOo~ 

Loki was definitely going to learn to use Midgardian map coordinates to traverse the World Tree. Of course, even if he did there was no guarantee he would be able to safely bring humans with him, which rendered the idea rather difficult to test and not useful for the current purpose. 

He at least minded the Quinjet a good deal less than he had the helicopter, and it certainly traveled much faster. According to Natasha the aircraft was fitted with both "radar-jamming software," whatever that was, and was flying below the altitude at which radar would normally be effective. Loki chose not to think about the sort of landscape features that might present dangers to low-flying aircraft, especially since it was by now quite dark. He concentrated instead on Natasha's incisive voice as she ran through the plan once again.

As plans went, it had the merits of simplicity. 

"Annie will meet us in the woods at the outskirts of Doomstadt," Natasha said. "She'll have done some more reconnaissance and will be ready to lead us to the castle by the least visible route."

"Which she will be able to do without being caught because she'll be invisible herself at the time?" Romanov asked, deadpan. 

"Yes," Natasha replied. Loki realized he was unsure whether the second lot of Avengers knew what manner of beings his friends were. If they did not, Loki would not be the one to tell them. 

Romanov was enough like Natasha that whatever she might be thinking did not show on her face. Instead, she asked,

"And how will Annie find the rendezvous? I didn't have the impression she knows the area well."

"She'll find Loki," said Natasha. "Or he'll find her." With a slight twist to the corner of her mouth, she explained, "It's a very handy ability they have."

"All right," Romanov nodded. Loki suspected she knew there was little point in pressing Natasha for information the agent was disinclined to offer. Well really, who would know better?

Across the aircraft, Steve seemed to be suppressing an expression of amusement, possibly as the same thought occurred to him. He maintained his composure, which was assuredly helpful. Loki, likewise, did his best to suppress any unease at finding himself in such close quarters with one of the unfriendly Avengers. He had no memory of a specific encounter with Agent Romanov, so the unease was mostly theoretical, and the fact Romanov seemed to have no opinion about, or objection to, his presence was mildly reassuring. 

He was not, however, the only one present whose thoughts seemed to run along these lines. 

"When we get to Loki-- the other Loki, I mean-- " Natasha said crisply, "we'll be rescuing him. Not recapturing him. That's understood, right?"

"Right," Romanov agreed. 

"Good," Natasha said coolly. 

"Thor wants to take him back to his own reality," Romanov said, her tone matter-of-fact.

"Noted," Natasha replied, equally evenly. Loki was privately convinced the two women had half-forgotten there was anyone else in the aircraft. There was a rather charged moment of silence, and then Natasha turned to Loki. "We're nearly at the drop zone, you should probably get ready."

"Agent," Loki said, in his best you-are-in-charge-here tone. Romanov cast a curious look at him, apparently expecting him to finally assume a parachute like the rest of them. Instead, Loki turned to Steve. "You will carry my belongings for me?"

"Sure," Steve assured him, his expression openly amused by now. 

"What belongings are those?" Romanov asked. 

"Primarily my clothing," Loki replied. Romanov's eyebrows climbed. Loki was not such a fool as to suppose he had actually shocked her, but it was evident she expected an explanation. "I have never made a parachute jump," Loki explained in a reserved tone, forbearing to add that it sounded a completely ridiculous venture, certainly more akin to some Asgardian game (he could imagine Thor and Sif's glee) than a tactical maneuver. Instead he added, "I have no wish to compromise the success of the mission with an amateurish first attempt. I will therefore be making my descent in my own way."

Romanov inclined her head, looking mildly interested. With a flicker of relief, Loki realized his anxieties about Romanov were unfounded: assuredly she distrusted him, but probably no more than she distrusted anyone else in this reality, including Steve Rogers and her own alter-ego. Suspicion was her natural, or at least usual, state, and regrettable as that might be, it also meant she was less disturbed by the feeling than were most of her colleagues and was therefore much likelier to think twice before acting on it. 

Loki remembered the days when he naturally assumed the worst of others. It had not been pleasant, but he had to admit he had (up to a certain point) at least not been startled into thoughtless action when someone lived down to his expectations. Perhaps Romanov's distrust could also be trusted, at least that far. 

"Hand them over," Steve interrupted his thoughts to say, displaying a small duffle bag clipped to his utility belt. Without looking at either of the female agents, Loki first shed his jacket, then stripped the black knit shirt he had changed into over his head and handed them both to Steve. 

Loki's shape shimmered green, and then in his place was a tawny owl, swiveling its head to the left and right and blinking its large brown eyes at the others.

After a pause, Romanov asked, "He does like being a bird, doesn't he?"

"You have no idea," Steve replied with a smile as he shifted the owl to take possession of the rest of the clothing. Loki stretched out his wings, flapped them experimentally, and _tu-whooed._

The large bay door at the back of the Quinjet dropped open. A moment later, Captain America and two Black Widows plunged into space. 

A few seconds after that, the small shape of an owl fell into a descending circle above them.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _In spite of a comment by H!Fury in the previous chapter, I don't believe anyone ever told A!Loki (or Annie and George) about the Extravengers before the Doombot attack on the house in Scotland. (At least, I didn't intend for them to do so, and I can't find a passage in which anybody did.) So there's an unpleasant surprise in store for someone in this chapter._
> 
> _Also, the point of natural history mentioned is accurate. (These stories may do considerable violence to canon, as well as history and geography when it suits me, but you can almost always trust me about animals.) (And aviation, as far as I can manage.)_

Annie held onto the idea of invisibility as she hurried back through the town. The temptation to reach out and find Loki, then jump to him, was hard to resist-- he'd been shaky when she left him, and being stuck in that cell just couldn't be doing his state of mind any good-- but resist it she did. As badly as she wanted to update Loki and offer him whatever moral support she could, it seemed more important in the long run to make sure she had no doubts at all about the route she would guide the others along during the rescue. 

She took pains to find a route back to the castle with reasonably good cover, in case Loki-- _her_ Loki-- couldn't use a glamour to hide the rescue team. When he'd encountered Doombots last winter, Loki had mentioned them being attracted to his magic, so she figured he would want to be sparing with that. And speaking of magic, she found herself wondering whether that was part of the reason Doom hadn't bothered to build a wall around the grounds of his castle. Maybe there were protective spells preventing nosy citizens or superheroes from getting too close. It was possible the spells were there and she simply wasn't able to perceive them.

Something to warn _her_ Loki about, when he and his team arrived. 

Annie made her way around the castle, looking for the stream's other outlet. When she'd come out in the first place she'd simply followed the flow of the stream. Now that she'd seen the lay of the land, and the way the stream flowed downhill almost immediately after the grates, it no longer seemed to her a sensible way to bring goods into the castle. So either it originated underneath the castle itself, or there was another way to enter by boat, coming in on the downstream flow instead of upstream the way it had worked in _The Hobbit._

She found the second set of grates partially hidden by overgrown brush, heavy enough that Annie thought if she was corporeal she'd have trouble getting through it. The stream flowed in from the countryside, so if it had been used as a trade route, this probably was the original access point. It wasn't of any particular use to her or her friends right now, but Natasha would certainly want to know as much as possible about the lay of the land. 

She had to stop a couple of times to get her bearings, but found her way back to Loki's cell without any major difficulty. She didn't even encounter many Doombots-- what with the magic and the dungeons being so hard to get to, maybe Doom didn't feel the need to station a lot of guards around Loki's cell.

That was a hopeful sign, and she needed all the hope she could get. As she had feared, when she got back to Loki he was pacing in the cell, face white and strained, bearing rigid. Everybody's self-control had limits, and Annie feared Loki was reaching his. She also wondered whether he was hungry again. The sandwiches at Tony's hadn't been all that long ago by ordinary standards, but in his condition-- and considering the kind of feelings being hungry probably roused in him-- Annie really wished she had some means of getting him something to eat.

Loki didn't quite jump when she called to him, but the flinch he suppressed was more than his iron control would normally have allowed. Annie hoped if Doom had the cell under surveillance he didn't notice the gesture. 

"I'm sorry to have been away for so long," she said rapidly. She'd had no control over that, of course, but he probably still needed to hear the apology. "I found a way to send for help, but then I had to wait for a reply. There's a rescue party on its way, I'll have to leave you so I can guide them here but they're coming to help you." Loki continued to pace for the benefit of any watcher, but his face seemed a tiny bit less set. Annie mentally crossed her fingers for luck, and went on, "So… the team is going to be Natasha, Steve, and Loki. And… do you know, I can't remember whether anyone told us this before, I don't think they did but the past few hours have been awfully confused, but-- when, when _our_ Loki-- " Annie hated the stiffness that settled on Loki's face at her designation, but she couldn't bring herself to call _her_ Loki "the other Loki" or something similarly neutral. It would have felt like a betrayal even though he wasn't present to hear it. Besides, Loki-- _this_ Loki-- knew she was attached to the Loki who belonged here. 

And that was hardly the point, so she went on, 

"-- when Mitchell and Agent Coulson brought our Loki back, they also accidentally brought a bunch of the Avengers with them, so-- "

Annie hadn't tried to pussyfoot around the issue of the other Avengers because there really wasn't time or any real way to minimize the impact, but when Loki abruptly stopped pacing she cursed herself for an idiot. When she realized he wasn't breathing either, Annie hurried around the cell to look him in the face. His expression had gone glazed and distant, as if he'd retreated somewhere safer inside his head. Annie tried to reassure him.

"They're not taking you back," she insisted. "We've said that all along. Loki, listen to me: we're not letting anyone take you back there."

He didn't react overtly, but his eyes went to hers so she knew he could hear her. He even remembered not to move his lips as, very softly, he said, 

"Thor?"

"I don't know if he's with them," Annie admitted, although both of them knew he probably was. "All I know is, some of them came through, and their Natasha Romanov is part of the team who's coming to rescue you. So, um, there will be two Natashas. But you know _our_ Natasha, she promised to come get you and she's in charge. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. She and Loki and Steve won't let it. Don't be scared."

She was sorry as soon as she said _scared,_ this wasn't a Loki who was likely to admit to weakness, even just to her, even when it was obvious. But his eyes flicked to hers, just for a second, and he didn't argue.

Still hardly moving his lips, he murmured, 

"Thor will insist… The honour of Asgard…"

_"Our_ Thor will insist, too," Annie said grimly, imagining a scene like one of those old Japanese monster movies, where Godzilla fights some other giant creature and they destroy Tokyo. Loki continued to stand still, breathing as if it took a conscious effort. Annie tried again.

"It'll be all right," she promised. "Really." 

Loki glanced at her again, then went back to pacing. Annie positioned herself where he could most easily see her, and waited with him until she had to go meet the others. 

~oOo~

In spite of Loki's misgivings about the wisdom of parachute jumps, Steve and the two Black Widows landed safely. They were rolling up their black parachutes when Loki backwinged onto a tree limb above their heads and _tu-whooed._ Steve looked up. 

"Loki?" he called softly, which was sensible of him. The tawny, or brown, owl being among the most common European owls, it would be foolhardy for him to reach up and attempt to touch any passing member of the species. Likewise, Loki had reached out with his magic before approaching the group of humans here in the forest-- whispers had little individuality, and he did not care to fly up to strangers who might after all turn out to be poachers. 

His night vision was not nearly as good as legend would have him believe, and so he had located the group by their rustles and whispers. It felt as though his ears were offset on his head, which made everything sound rather peculiar but at least made it very easy to determine where the little noises were coming from.

He hooted again, partly because it seemed to amuse Steve, and then flew down to land on the captain's shoulder. He was careful not to clutch with his talons-- though presumably the Captain America suit was proof against such weapons-- instead balancing carefully. Steve unclipped the duffle bag from his utility belt, then carried both it and the owl into a handy clump of leafy young trees and left them there. 

The moon was just past full, which gave Loki sufficient light to see what he was doing. He dressed quickly, getting the shirt on wrong way around at first and having to reverse it but otherwise experiencing little difficulty. He tied his shoelaces and emerged to join the others. Natasha consulted a compass, then indicated the direction they would take. 

"Town's that way," she whispered. "Loki, have your feelers out." Loki nodded, realized she probably could not see him, and made a noise of assent. With Natasha in the lead and Steve bringing up the rear in case they should be attacked from behind, the little group crept through the forest. 

Having one's "feelers out" in the forest at night was a fascinating and somewhat disorienting experience. Loki found himself sifting through all the various small intelligences that crept or flew or stalked, trying to find something more complicated. Something _familiar._

Nothing presented itself. Loki found himself not so much reaching as scrabbling, like someone who _knows_ he placed his house keys in a particular drawer and if he only searches it _one more time…_

And then, just when he had begun to fear that, along with the events of the past two or three days, he had also somehow _forgotten Annie--_

There was a rushing feeling of something or _someone_ approaching at great speed, and with it came the knowledge of _who--_

Loki turned just in time to catch Annie as she hurled herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck. If this was perhaps not the act of a proper secret agent, no more was Loki's response, which was to spin her around in a momentary excess of relief and gladness. They at least both remembered to be quiet, although that was partly the result of Annie muffling her squeaks of relief and joy into the crook of Loki's neck. 

He, in turn, folded his long arms tightly around her, breathing in the faint floral scent of her hair, which lingered as if her last living act had been to wash it, and held on until his heart stopped hammering and his breathing returned to normal. 

When he was able, and when her grip on him relaxed a little, he held her gently off at arms' length and looked at her as if he had expected never to be able to do so again.

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you," he said, glad indeed the circumstances indicated he speak in a whisper. He did not think he would be able to keep his voice steady if he attempted a normal tone.

"Same here," Annie whispered back. She wiped at her streaming eyes with the cuffs of her grey cardigan, then reached quickly up to do the same for him. 

He was not even embarrassed-- at least, he was not until Natasha coughed pointedly and said, 

"Good to see you, Annie. Which way to the castle?" 

_Oh. Yes. Of course._

Loki looked at Annie, watched her attention return to the mission at hand, and tried not to feel jealous. 

It helped when she took his hand and held it tightly. 

"This way," she said, and the little group crept off into the night. 

~oOo~

"Seriously," said Clint, "what did superheroes even _do_ before cell phones?"

Stark thought that was actually a pretty good question, but Fury ignored it and spoke to Mitchell, who had just turned off his speakerphone option and pocketed his cell. "You had better go back and deal with that. Barton-- " Fury turned to Clint, to make sure there was no confusion about which "Barton" he was addressing-- "you're with him."

"I'm coming, too," George spoke up, in a mutinous tone that suggested he expected an argument. Fury, however, had no such intention. 

"Yeah, good idea," he agreed. "Strength in numbers. We can land a Quinjet in that park near your house." 

"I'm not sure the city council-- " George began, and Mitchell overrode him.

"Yeah, no trouble." With a warning look at George, he added, "Show of force and all that."

"Exactly," Fury agreed. "Don't worry about stealth mode."

"How are those wooden arrows coming along?" Clint asked casually. 

"Armoury's working on it," Fury replied. "Take stakes." 

"Sure, boss. No offense," Clint added, to Mitchell. 

"None taken," Mitchell shrugged. 

"Wait a minute," the second Fury spoke up, probably speaking for his whole team, or at least those still present. "It's about time we put all the cards on the table." No one snickered at the idea of _Fury_ (either version) telling anyone else to lay out their cards when Fury himself (either version) tended to play his own so close to his chest they were, in fact, generally inside his undershirt. 

The local Fury raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"So that one's a vampire," the second Fury gestured toward Mitchell. "Anything else we need to know about the rest of their household? This guy-- " he nodded at George-- "or the girlfriend?"

The local Fury showed no inclination to share information-- well, of course he didn't. 

And then Thor-- the one who'd come over with Stark's team-- who was wearing the look he got on his face every time someone referenced _Loki's girlfriend,_ had to speak up. 

"She should be warned of him," he said. Stark resisted the impulse to hide his face in his hands, but only because he figured it would be smart to keep his head up in case he had to dodge a boss fight between the two Gods of Thunder. 

And really, Stark felt a little guilty for his own _for the love of God, Thor_ mental reaction, because in fact he also felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought of any Loki in a relationship with some unsuspecting Earth girl. And, judging by the looks on Barton and Banner's faces, and the way Rogers was determinedly staring at the tabletop, everybody else from his reality felt the same way. 

One of these days, Stark supposed, his team would get used to the idea of trusting anything Loki-shaped. Circumstances being what they were, he thought they could perhaps be forgiven for taking a little time to embrace the concept. 

He did, however, find himself wondering about Thor. It seemed to Stark that he should be a lot more relieved at the idea his adopted-- his _brother--_ had probably not been acting of his own volition when he attacked Earth. Mind you, given what they'd learned since this whole mess began, it _also_ seemed as if Thor should have had a lot more questions about exactly what sent Loki off the rails in the first place, if he hadn't always been a murderous nutjob after all. 

And, given Thor's defensive remarks a while back, about how _of course_ his brother had been mostly law-abiding for most of his life, and it was his recent activities that were the aberration... well, it seemed as if Thor should be the first to give _this_ Loki the benefit of the doubt. Especially when you considered the young-looking _doppelganger_ was apparently _the way Thor remembered his own brother,_ back in the days before everything had gone to hell. 

So the question was, why _was_ Thor so unwilling to do so? Why did he seem so weirdly invested in the idea this Loki was bound to turn on everyone after all?

Stark had never particularly minded being an only child, but the longer he was exposed to Thor and Loki, the more grateful he felt for not having siblings. Whatever relationship existed between the brothers didn't seem to be doing either of them any good at all. 

On the other team, Bruce rolled his eyes, Tony looked exasperated, and Aslan-Thor leaned forward with a dangerous-looking little smile and asked, 

"Should be _warned?_ Warned of _what?"_

"What will he do when he has no further use for her?" the second Thor demanded. "He will-- he will harm her."

And here was the thing: Thor's sincerity was palpable. He was genuinely anxious about this Earth girl he'd never met, even though circumstances indicated she must, at a minimum, have some heavy magical powers of her own. It was, of course, characteristic: say what you would about him, Thor was always interested in and worried about the safety of humans. When his crazy adopted brother-- when his crazy brother-- showed up in the first place, Thor had been concerned for two things: getting the Tesseract out of him, and ensuring his, Thor's, human friends weren't threatened. 

None of which won him any points with the other Loki's brother. 

_"Use for her?"_ Aslan-Thor repeated, his lips still pulled back from his teeth but no longer even pretending to smile. He had never looked more like a predatory big cat. "You believe him incapable of genuine friendship, then? Of using others only for what he can get from them-- to further his ambitions, to serve his glory? To stand in his shadow while he reaps all the acclaim and accepts all the credit for the loyalty, courage, and skill of his companions?"

Okay, yeah, they were definitely not talking about Loki any longer. Aslan-Thor's tone was savagely personal, and the second Thor's face turned red and sheepish, the way it had looked that time the Avengers had all tackled him about his outlaw brother and Thor had hastily informed them Loki was adopted. Aslan-Thor was obviously assuming similarities between his own circumstances and the other Thor's, and it looked as if he was right.

"Your loyalty is touching," Stark's version of Fury spoke up, because of course Fury didn't give a shit. "But forgive the rest of us if we'd all prefer to side with the brother who doesn't _kill people for fun."_

Ah yes. Nick Fury, master of the low blow and the dirty shot. Stark had gathered the impression this set of Avengers placed a slightly higher premium on general decency than the gang from Stark's side of the mirror. On being kind, as well as on the side of the angels. Fury had clearly seen it, too, and was obviously expecting his remark to hit home. 

What it did, in fact, was cause Aslan-Thor to turn toward him in a way that reminded Stark a lion tamer was in control for only as long as the lion agreed to cooperate. 

His hands remained flat on the table, and he made no effort to rise to his feet. But his smile became one of apparently-genuine amusement as he looked at Fury and said, 

"Indeed? Is, then, the Thor of your reality _not_ the son of Odin Allfather? _Not_ the most renowned warrior of the Nine Realms? Is he, rather than the God of Thunder, perhaps the God of _Tax Accountancy?"_

Stark made a mental note of one more major difference between Thors: Aslan-Thor was kind of a sarcastic bastard. 

"And what do you mean by that?" Fury asked. 

"Ask him," Aslan-Thor retorted, nodding at his opposite number. 

"He's already told us he what he was like in his youth," Fury replied. "We know he used to be a warlord."

"And this was-- how long ago?" Aslan-Thor demanded. "Two centuries? Three? He was not banished to Midgard by the Allfather, and never met Dr. Jane Foster or her friends?" 

"I was indeed, and I did," Thor snapped, angry and defensive. "And so I learned better-- "

"Within memory of these mortals?" Aslan-Thor shot back. 

"Within the past year," Barton spoke up. "And raised merry old hell at our base in New Mexico."

"So do not speak of your _youth,"_ Aslan-Thor snarled. "Not when the time passed is for you as the space between waking and breakfast is to a human." He glared around the table and back at Thor. "And do not speak of what you _know_ of my brother, when you have not troubled yourself to learn anything about your own."

There was an uncomfortable pause that could have gone either way, and then the local Fury said, 

"All right. If we've all got that out of our systems, let's move on. As far as Annie is concerned, we consider there is zero chance of our Loki turning on her for any reason outside of demonic possession, and even if he did, she's a supernatural creature."

"What kind of supernatural creature?" Stark's Fury insisted, and Stark was rooting for him. Yeah, they'd kind of come here uninvited, but if they were going to help the locals with their little problem, it was only fair they fully understood the situation.

"She's a ghost," Mitchell spoke up. "She's already dead." Whatever Stark and his teammates had been expecting to hear, this wasn't it. They all gaped at Mitchell, who shrugged. "I suppose a sorcerer as powerful as Loki could do her some damage regardless, but I can't imagine any reason he'd want to. I don't know where he'd have ended up after he fell off the Bifrost, if Annie hadn't taken him in, but he's pretty convinced it would have been nowhere good."

The idea of trusting in Loki's capacity for gratitude still struck Stark as foolhardy, but not anywhere nearly as foolhardy as saying as much to Thor and the vampire. 

And that left George. 

"What about you?" Stark demanded, feeling the others had held the floor for about long enough. "What are you?"

George straightened his dweeby glasses, sat up straighter, and in a high-pitched, rather offended-sounding voice, replied, 

"I'm a werewolf."

"Bullshit," Stark blurted. He would have believed _wizard._ Hell, he might have swallowed King of the Fairies. But _werewolf_?

"Shut up, Stark," one of the Furies-- he wasn't sure which-- ordered. 

Stark couldn't. Could. Not. "Prove it," he demanded. 

"Seriously, asshole-- shut. Up," the other Tony Stark growled. Great, now he was being told off by his own self. He supposed it was bound to happen eventually. He'd laugh at that later, right now he could not make himself stop talking. 

"No, really. This is too much. _Look_ at him. I'll believe it if I see him transform."

"The full moon was last night. I'm a werewolf, not an Animagus," George snapped, and at the Harry Potter reference Banner suddenly lost it and began to giggle hysterically. His opposite number, Bruce, looked both relieved and amused. 

"And now, if everyone's had their say, I think it's time we headed back to Bristol," Mitchell said as he rose to his feet. "Colonel Fury, can a crew member show us back to the cabin where our pets are? We should probably bring the dog."

"And what's the dog?" Stark demanded. "She's not secretly the Hound of the Baskervilles, is she?"

Mitchell smiled. "Of course not. She just likes to be included. You know what dogs are like." 

Mitchell, George, and Clint Barton left the briefing room. 

The local Fury turned to Aslan-Thor and Tony Stark. "Stark, go suit up. You'll need to be ready when Romanov calls in with the go-ahead. Thor, stick with him."

"You can hold my gauntlets," Tony said to Aslan-Thor as he got up. With one final harsh glance at the second Thor, Aslan-Thor went with him. After a moment, Coulson followed. 

"Good," the local Fury said. "The rest of you, wait here. You'll need to gear up as well. Someone will escort you down to the armoury in a minute. Banner-- " He frowned as he looked at the two members of the team who didn't need to be issued weapons. 

Bruce offered a lopsided smile. "I can lend Dr. Banner a pair of Hulk pants. And then maybe we'll go sit on the deck and watch the stars come out."

"Fine," Fury growled. "Just so we know where to find you if we need you."

"If you need us, you won't have to find us," Bruce pointed out, and the two Dr. Banners left the conference room as well. 

~oOo~

As soon as they were safely in the secondary armoury with the Iron Man suits, Tony turned to Thor. 

"Lay off him," he said abruptly. 

Thor offered an innocent look he must have learned from his brother. _"Lay off?"_

"Yes, and don't give me that _innocent alien who knows not your vernacular_ routine, either. You know what I mean, and you know who I mean. The other Thor. Stop rising to his bait. He's an asshole, but he's not doing it on purpose."

Thor raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, with their biceps the size of Tony's head. "You suggest that I allow him to slander and insult my brother without responding? Need I remind you that _this is how I lost him the first time?"_

"Jesus, Thor." Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I get that. But... just think for a minute about the other Thor. It sounds like he went through all the same stuff you did, before Loki fell. But _after--_ remember how you felt, when you were trying to figure out _why?_ You were angry and confused and sad, and even when you got here and Loki wasn't doing anything wrong and was sorry, it didn't make all those feelings go away?"

Thor's expression went mulish. "I remember. I was... selfish."

"Well duh, you're a mammal," Tony said, which judging by Thor's expression didn't exactly help.

Coulson cleared his throat. "Mind if I-- ?"

"Go ahead," Tony said gratefully. 

"I think I know what Tony's trying to say," the agent said calmly. "When Loki went off the rails in the first place, you didn't know what happened. As far as you could tell he just randomly started doing things that hurt you and other people. Right?" Thor nodded, opened his mouth to speak. Coulson raised a hand. "Just a second, all right? He was missing for all that time, and then he showed up down here and you still didn't really know what was going on with him."

"That is true," Thor admitted. "Father said he was himself again and was doing no harm, but I still needed to see him, speak to him for myself."

"Which is understandable," Coulson said. "And then, after he explained himself-- it was still hard, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Thor agreed quietly. "I had... much to think about."

"Yeah," Coulson said. "And, as relieved as you were when you realized Loki wasn't still lost and crazy and dangerous-- there were still a lot of things wrong, things you hadn't noticed or thought were important, things that meant he didn't want to go back to Asgard even if it had been possible then. So you must have wondered, didn't you-- if Loki wasn't entirely responsible for what he did, did that mean someone else was? You, maybe? Or your family and friends?" Thor said nothing. "You weren't, you know. Even if Loki _wasn't_ fully responsible, that doesn't mean anybody else _made him do it._

"But remember how hard it was-- how hard it still is-- sorting through all those feelings and trying to find new ways to be with your brother, without blaming everything on him, which isn't fair, or on yourself, which isn't fair either. Wouldn't it have been easier just to _stay angry at him?_ Especially if he _hadn't_ seemed to turn over a new leaf-- if he was still acting hateful and dangerous.

"What you've been doing is hard, even Loki trying, too. A lot of us wouldn't be able to do it. A lot of us wouldn't be able to even try. Especially if _Loki_ wasn't trying."

"You are a fair and just man," Thor said tiredly. "But I do not know if I can be equally fair. He seems to have no interest in his own brother."

"And maybe he doesn't," Coulson admitted. "But he and his brother have both gone through an awful lot, most of it separately, and it doesn't seem as if either of them have had much time to even think about it, much less figure out what to do with it. So... maybe, right now, he's doing the best he can."

Thor sighed. "You have made your point, Agent Coulson. I will... try to be more understanding." He considered for a moment, and then his face hardened. "Although-- should he lay one finger on _my_ brother-- "

"The rest of us will hold your coat," Tony promised.

~oOo~

Natasha, as the commander of the mission, elected to bring up the rear while Annie and Loki led the way. Steve walked behind Loki-- and, true to his word, the captain was indeed able to move very quietly when he deemed it necessary-- while the two Agent Romanovs followed behind him. 

Loki rather suspected Natasha had arranged the sequence on purpose, and he had no complaints. Annie was leading the way and he had no intention of being separated from her, so it was reassuring indeed to have Steve's bulk interposed between himself and Agent Romanov, and also to know Natasha was right there in case... in case something happened.

And really, if one needed to be defended from a rearguard attack by the Black Widow, who better to do so than the Black Widow herself? 

Brushing aside these unproductive thoughts, Loki instead concentrated on moving as quietly as possible, while also feeling around for magical currents and trying to suppress his own powers. His only prior encounter with Doom's sorcery had not gone well: the Doombots were programmed to be highly sensitive to magic, and when he used his they had recognized it as unfamiliar. He still felt cold at the thought of how badly that could have turned out for himself and especially Agent Coulson. Still, if the other Loki was imprisoned by sorcery, it was likely no one but another sorcerer could find a way to free him. He simply had to avoid doing anything overt until the last possible moment. 

_Unless…_

As they reached the edge of the forest, Natasha whispered for everyone to halt, so they might determine the safest way to cross the open ground. The command suited Loki's new plan admirably. 

"The rest of you should wait here, while I conduct a test," he announced. Agent Romanov's eyes narrowed, while Natasha raised her eyebrows in a manner that suggested his tone had been high-handed. "I apologize," he corrected himself hastily: the last thing he wanted was to undermine Natasha's authority with the other Agent Romanov. "I meant to say that I think I may have found a solution to the problem of Doombots identifying my sorcery. However, since my idea needs to be tested, I think it best if you let me go ahead on my own. If I am successful, I will rejoin you. If I am not, I will distract the Doombots while the rest of you follow Annie into the castle."

If Loki could not defeat the wards Doom had placed on the cell, the group's back-up plan involved explosives. If it came to that, they would need all the distractions Loki could provide.

"What's your plan?" Natasha asked. 

"This being Doom's principle residence, there is a considerable magical residue surrounding it. I may be able to absorb and use some of it. If it works in the way I hope, Doom's sorcery may serve as a sort of camouflage for mine, and so deceive the Doombots." 

Agent Romanov appeared suspicious of the suggestion, but Natasha and Steve both looked interested.

"You think it'll work?" asked Natasha.

"I do," Loki replied. Assuming, of course, he could persuade the magic to cooperate. And that it did not have a violently adverse effect on him, as Dire Wraith magic had in the past. And that Doom himself was not so sensitive as to be able to feel what one might term "a disturbance in the Force" that would instantly alert him to the intruder…

Loki smiled confidently. 

"What could possibly go wrong?"


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _In **Being Human** , minor characters are sometimes referred to by only one of their names, and even the show credits may not bother to give the other. So, for instance, if you look up vampire characters on the show's wiki you may only see a given name or surname attached to a character. I've used genuine **Being Human** characters for the minor characters who crop up here, just in case completists among readers care to look them up and see what they look like, but I haven't bothered to make up full names for them. I think it's possible that a lot of the vampires only know each other by a single name in the first place._
> 
> _I've mentioned before that I've never really understood what the vampires' plans for world domination entailed-- **Being Human** canon was fairly long on atmosphere and quite skimpy on tactical briefings with maps and all. So here's the best idea I could come up with. In fairness, it seems like the kind of plan that works best in partnership with someone like Doom._
> 
> _Oh-- and, in case you were wondering, comic books and comic book movies exist in this universe. The major player is, of course, DC._
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _None._

"Ouch," Loki complained, remembering to keep his voice down, as both Annie and Natasha-- the latter rather more forcefully-- punched him in either arm. "It was a _joke._ I was _joking._ God of _Mischief,_ remember?"

"You still know better than to tempt fate like that," Steve pointed out, as he administered a very gentle open-handed slap to the back of Loki's head. Loki ducked, grinning, and stepped away from the others with his hands raised. He was, as Tony would say, mostly kidding, but he certainly did not want to encourage Agent Romanov to join in this new game.

"If we had the water bottle here-- " Annie threatened, but her expression belied her words.

"Remain here while I investigate," he whispered, leaned down to exchange a swift kiss with Annie, then slipped away through the brush. 

Steve and the Agents Romanov could indeed move very quietly when they wished-- this trait was surprising in someone the size of Steve, far less so in the other two-- but for centuries Loki's role on adventures had involved slipping in from the flank or sliding away to work some enchantment. He had long since learned to make less noise than the little creatures of the night.

When he had reached what he considered to be a safe distance from the rest of the group, Loki paused. What he needed to do, he probably could have done without leaving the company of the others, but it really was easier to focus on the magic around him without the auras of the others muddying his perceptions even a little. And besides, if he drew the attention of Doom, or his robotic guards-- or indeed some hostile native magical force-- he very much preferred not to be in company with the others. Steve and Natasha were more than able to defend themselves under normal circumstances, but it would be purely irresponsible to open them up to supernatural attack. 

Standing here alone, he did not so much _reach out_ as _open up._ Loki had once likened himself to a radio receiver, which was perhaps not a perfect analogy but was close enough to serve. In Asgard, on the other realms where magic was commonly used, its currents were easy to find, to harness and be put to work by a sorcerer. Here on Midgard the magic was present, but for the most part long neglected. In many of the places where humans lived in large numbers, where their technology was supreme, the magic was deeply buried and nearly dormant, so that not even Loki with his skills and sensitivity could rouse it. 

The difficulty in accessing and using magic did not mean it was not there. Back at home, in Britain, magic now took notice of Loki, sought him out when it needed him. Magic was nearly sentient, and that which he had so far encountered in Midgard was by now largely feral, answering to its own inclinations rather than the will of sorcerers. 

In Britain, however, it seemed to retain a memory of the time when it had been called upon to protect the people and land-- _the island._ Loki had lived long enough in Britain to be aware of the hold this idea of _the island_ had on its people. Whether that idea was influenced by the magic, or the magic shaped by the idea, was by now impossible to say. Regardless, Loki had in the past found the magic still ready to rouse itself in defense of _the island_ and those who lived upon it. His own inclinations being directed the same way, he had willingly acted as its vessel or conductor when called upon. 

Midgard was a large and complex realm. The magic inhabiting it was as varied as the realm. Loki had so far neither encountered nor looked for magic in any other part of Midgard, and he knew quite well his experiences would be different if he tried. In some places the magic would be inaccessible to anyone, while in others he had no doubt it was still in close contact with local sorcerers, yet would refuse to respond to an interloper. 

He therefore had no preconceived notions about what he might find here in Latveria, whether the magic he felt emanated solely from Doom himself, or whether Doom was indeed controlling something much larger. In that case, too, he had no idea what the inclinations-- the, for lack of a better word, _wishes,_ of the magic might be. There was every possibility an attempt to interpose himself would go catastrophically wrong, but that was of course true of nearly all magical endeavours and so was hardly worth mentioning. 

There really was no predicting what the result of his current efforts might be. Since coming to Midgard, Loki had one on occasion managed to absorb and make use of a spell cast by another enchanter-- he had been in the form of a raven at the time and was in need of additional power to hold onto the shift. On another, he had been nearly overwhelmed by the malign powers of a creature called a Dire Wraith, powers he had pulled into himself in the course of fighting to rescue Tony from it. Admittedly, the Dire Wraith was not a creature of Midgard and neither was his magic, but the experience had left him wary of meddling with powers inherent to someone as potentially dangerous as Doom.

However, there was, as the Midgardians would say, only one way to find out what would happen. And so Loki opened himself up, and waited. 

It took a little patience, but eventually he could feel something questing at the edges of his consciousness. It felt alive, in a way the leavings of sorcerers did not. Loki was able to reach out and gather it, wrapping it around himself like the cloaks he had once worn. 

Nothing unfortunate happened. Loki used the new magic to reach into the limbs of a nearby tree, shaking the twigs as though by a breeze. Still nothing. So far as he could tell, this power was neutral: ready to be used, but without opinions on the use to which it would be put. Since coming to Midgard, this was the closest he had ever felt to the magic of the rest of the Nine: magic that was accustomed to be used, and compliant to the purpose of the sorcerer. 

Encouraged, he twisted the power into the spell he now called "these are not the droids you are looking for" and walked boldly across the open courtyard toward the castle walls. 

Nothing. 

Loki waited, calculating the length of time it would reasonably take for Doom or his minions to identify an intruder and take measures against him. All remained quiet. After a moment Loki crossed back to rejoin the others. 

"I think this will work," Loki said quietly. "We need not remain in physical contact with one another, but the spell will be easier to maintain if we stay close together."

"And don't push our luck," Natasha agreed. "Stealth mode, everyone. Frontal assaults are for Gryffindors." 

"When the Gryffindors aren't outnumbered," Agent Romanov remarked, as Steve nodded. Loki flashed her a startled smile, and she nearly smiled back. 

"Okay. Annie, you know where that tunnel is," Natasha whispered. "Lead the way."

~oOo~

Ivan had proposed a time to meet at the teashop. He was, of course, early. 

Mitchell, George, and Clint had naturally counted on that and so they made sure to be earlier. Mitchell had called ahead to make sure Catherine Bennett knew what was about to happen, and so by the time the trio arrived she had not only placed a small enchantment on her premises to make it appear to humans to be closed, she had also called Agnes Scott to join them. When Ivan arrived a short time later, the witches were thoroughly briefed.

"Come in," Catherine greeted the vampire, gesturing to him to enter-- the teashop was a public place so invitations would be unnecessary even if Ivan had not been an Old One, but Catherine was making it clear whose space this was. Even so, she was perfectly civil. "I understand we're waiting for a few other people to join us?"

"Yes," Ivan agreed. "Kyle and Campbell-- Mitchell knows them. They're not interested in shaking up the status quo, either." He paused, looking thoughtful. "In fact, I'm pretty sure Campbell's on the wagon. Or at least he disappeared for a couple of weeks a few months ago and was looking seedy when he showed up again. Your influence, I suppose?" he asked Mitchell. 

"Isn't it pretty to think so," Mitchell replied drily. 

By the time the other vampires arrived a makeshift plan was in place. The vampires would do the majority of the talking. Catherine and Agnes would remain in the background, and George-- recognizing that vampires weren't inclined to want to hear from werewolves-- would also keep quiet. 

Campbell and Kyle turned out to be the same vampires Clint and Loki had spied on at the funeral home-- the ones who had been threatened by the others. Kyle was the burly one, Campbell the younger, skinny one. Both vampires nodded a greeting to Mitchell, acknowledged the witches, and ignored George and Clint. On the floor next to George's feet, Scamp began to growl softly and had to be shushed.

"Good to see you back," Kyle greeted Ivan gruffly, then glanced around. "No Daisy?"

"On second thoughts, I wasn't sure this wouldn't be a trap," Ivan replied pleasantly. 

"Won't you please sit down," Catherine spoke up, gesturing toward the table in the corner. 

"And tell us what you know," Ivan suggested. 

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Can we trust _him?"_ he asked, gesturing toward Clint. "He's human, yeah?"

Clint offered a smile nearly as cool and meaningless as Coulson's. "Yes to the second question. To the first-- give me a reason."

"He's all right," Mitchell spoke up sharply. "And let me remind you the Avengers are already in this mess up to their ears, so it's in everyone's best interests not to give them a reason to take any more interest in us than they're already doing."

"What's this about Mr. Snow?" Ivan interposed pleasantly. "Is he really on his way here?"

Kyle looked at Campbell, who suddenly appeared both frightened and rather smug, and said, 

"Campbell here's done a spot of double-agent work. Tell them."

"I pretended to go over to their side," Campbell explained. "I went to Gareth and told him I'd changed my mind."

"He believed you?" Clint asked. Kyle and Campbell looked irritated at the human's interjection-- which was more or less the reason Clint had done it. Mitchell and Ivan glanced at Clint, and Mitchell backed him:

"Good question."

Campbell swallowed any distaste he might have felt at the idea of answering questions posed by a human. 

"I told him I'd seen sense. There wasn't any reason for him not to believe me." The young vampire suddenly looked a little sick. "Believe me, in the short term it'd be a lot safer to join them." He stiffened his shoulders and went on, "I told him I didn't want to cross Mr. Snow. He believed _that."_ Campbell brightened, looked triumphant. "And he said Mr. Snow isn't coming to Bristol after all."

"No?" Ivan asked. "Did Gareth say why not?"

"Because stirring things up here would ruin Bristol as a safe base?" Mitchell guessed.

Campbell continued to look triumphant, but it was a very specific kind of triumph: pleased at being the one to get important information, but not at all happy about what he now knew.

"Because," said Campbell, "he's going to London." 

Clint raised an eyebrow. "And what does pussycat plan to do in London? Look at the queen?"

"Nearly," Kyle said, then nodded to Campbell to complete the story. The younger vampire grimaced. 

"He's going to London, and some of the other Old Ones are on their way to Washington. Mr. Snow is going to Parliament, and the rest of them to the White House. They're... planning to hold audiences with the Prime Minister and your President."

"Mind control," Mitchell said, for the benefit of Clint and the witches, and the two newcomers nodded.

"And the rest of us," Kyle added, "I mean the ones who've thrown in with the Old Ones, they'll be dealing with security details and the like."

"And they think that'll lead to-- what? Peaceful capitulation?" Clint asked sharply. "They think if they control the President they'll have the whole government under their thumb?"

"Mr. Snow is three thousand years old," Mitchell reminded him. "And he's not exactly in touch with the modern western world at the moment. He could be making assumptions based on absolute monarchies he remembers from when he was much younger. Control the king and the inner circle and you probably _would_ have things your way for quite a while."

"Even now, imagine the confusion," George murmured.

"Especially if they decide to add a terror campaign along with control of the leaders," Ivan said thoughtfully. He was perfectly calm-- since he didn't care what happened to humans, it was obvious he was thinking from a strictly tactical point of view. 

"They'd have to act fast," Clint said, equally calmly. "Modern governments aren't centralized enough to be completely crippled by a strike at the heart."

"Yes," George agreed, on a high note. "But how many people are going to be killed by that _strike at the heart?"_

"None, if we can help it," Clint replied. He turned back to Campbell and Kyle. "Okay. Tell us everything you know."

Clint's tone brooked no argument, and the two vampires didn't even glance at Ivan for approval before they started talking. 

~oOo~

Once Tony was suited up, he and Thor waited on the flight deck for Natasha to call in and let them know her team had landed in Latveria. Tony then waved a jaunty farewell to the Doctors Banner-- it was difficult to be sure in the poor light, but Bruce's gesture in response was probably obscene-- and the pair launched themselves from the deck and flew off toward Doom's lair.

The first of Doom's lairs, Thor mentally corrected himself. This was the most recent, the one Natasha had found, from which Doom had sent his Doombots to attack their friends at Tony's house. This might not have been where he hatched his schemes against Thor's brother, but it was certainly from whence he sent the order to kidnap the and imprison the second Loki, that poor unfortunate whose fate could so easily-- if not for their father's intervention-- have been that of his own brother. Odin blamed himself severely for his own failures as a father and king, but in Thor's mind he had made up for much with his protective spells.

Doom had a second base in this country, Thor knew. _That_ was the one Loki-- _his_ Loki-- had investigated last winter, in the company of Agent Coulson. Loki had been rather uncharacteristically reticent (well, it was uncharacteristic _now,_ Thor knew quite well his brother had plenty of practice in keeping secrets, if only because in the old days no one had much cared to hear them) about the details of that mission, but Thor did know the two had encountered Doombots in large numbers and their escape had been narrow. 

Really, the more he thought about it-- 

The more he pictured the worn-out face of the other Loki--

The more he remembered his own brother trying to conceal his apprehension in the presence of the Avengers, who were his _friends,_ as a consequence of what Doom had done to him--

Well, it was indeed fortunate that stealth was to play no part in this mission.

"The device sent to investigate this house detected no signs of life, is that correct?" Thor spoke into the communications device he must wear during missions. He knew the answer from Agent Hill, but wished to be perfectly sure. 

"That's right," Tony's voice sounded in his ear. 

"So there is no chance that human servants of Doom have been left behind?" Thor persisted. 

"None," Tony replied. "I just got JARVIS to run another scan. There aren't even rats in there."

"Good," Thor said, aimed Mjolnir at the stone-and-timber edifice looming before them, and accelerated toward it. 

~oOo~

It was not necessary for the group to hold hands or otherwise maintain physical contact in order to be shielded from Doom, but Loki did remind them to stay close together. 

And he and Annie did, in fact, hold hands as they crept toward the tunnel. 

Once there, Natasha produced an instrument that informed her there was no electrical current passing through the grates that blocked their way. Steve could, with a little effort, have torn it loose from its moorings, but cloaking such a noisy action might have cost enough magic to be noticeable even under camouflage. Loki preferred to save that particular risky behaviour until they were ready to actually free the other Loki from his prison. 

Natasha was, of course, accustomed to completing her missions without the assistance of large, muscular helpers like Steve, or magical consultants like Loki. Or, indeed, a second stealthy operative very much like herself. From a utility belt that reminded Loki of the character of Batman, Natasha produced various lock picking tools and swiftly set to work on the solid, modern padlocks securing the grate. As she did so, Agent Romanov used a small bottle from her own utility belt to oil the mechanism that would allow the grate to rise. It was obvious the grate dated from the modern era, but in such a damp environment some degree of rust was inevitable. 

Steve and Loki were called upon next, to lift the grate and hold it up while the Agents Romanov went to work on the second. Annie had by this time passed through both and was waiting halfway up the tunnel, her anxiety to be on their way palpable. Loki, as he helped lower the second grate quietly back into place, reminded himself that it was Annie's instinct to rescue that he had to thank for his current happy circumstances. It was not that she valued the other Loki more highly. It was _not._

_It really was not,_ a firm little voice in his head reminded him. Loki felt a degree of tension leave him as his focus returned to the mission. 

They waded through the stream until they reached the landing Annie had compared to the one in _The Hobbit,_ and the heavy oaken door. Annie had simply walked through it, but the humans found it locked and barred, and once again the entire team was needed to cope with locks, hinges, and the weight of the door itself. 

And then they were inside the castle proper. Loki gestured to Annie to pause a moment while he cast out a feeler to see whether he could determine where the nearest Doombots were. The bots had enough inbuilt magic for him to be able to identify a patrol on the same level as his team. That was all he could sense, however. Either there were no more in the castle-- which Loki considered unlikely-- or their magical signature was too feeble for him to pick up without a much greater effort on Loki's part. The Doombots being machines whose magic was neither innate nor necessary to animate them, Loki considered the second option the most likely.

He could easily sense Doom two levels above them, his magic pulsing like the beating heart of the castle, and cautiously withdrew his own power from that vicinity in case it was perceptible. He could also sense, quite near Doom, the same unpleasant magic he had felt from Ivan. In this case the magic was a great deal stronger, as seemed to befit an older and even more powerful vampire. Ivan had not seemed overly intimidated by this Edgar Wyndham-- for so Loki presumed the vampire he sensed to be-- but Loki remembered Mitchell's warnings, and his vulnerable human companions, and resolved to be careful. 

They encountered only one patrol of Doombots. Fortunately, the machines made such a clanking racket, as they made their heavy-footed way down the corridor, that Loki's group were given plenty of warning. The way being narrow, it was possible the Doombots would actually bump into a member of the group-- which would defeat the purpose of the cloaking spell. Realizing this in the same moment Loki did, Annie gestured toward a door she had apparently investigated while finding her way out. This time the door was unlocked, and the team ducked into a close, dank chamber that smelled strongly of damp and of… something else. 

Natasha made a face, confirming to Loki that the smell was neither his imagination nor a manifestation of another form of magic. Now he thought about it, Loki realized he was irresistibly reminded of the Battle of Whipsnade Zoo, when he and Thor had lain in wait for the rogue helicarrier, next to a large dung heap. 

Which quite naturally reminded Loki that, while castles were ancient by Midgardian standards, indoor plumbing was not. He glanced down and was relieved to find himself standing on clean bare stone, rather than… something else. 

And then, certain assumptions being logical, he quickly looked around to confirm his suspicion that this chamber did indeed have a means of access to the outside. It had been closed off at some point long ago, but had not been walled up with stone. Probably there was another grate to guard against incursion from that quarter, but there was a definite draft somewhere. 

He also looked up, not that it was possible to see much, and received an impression of openness above him. They were, for all intents and purposes, inside a large vertical chute that had once served as the castle's privy. This might be worth remembering for future reference. 

As soon as the patrol was safely past the group slipped back into the corridor and followed Annie to the dungeon where the other Loki was being held. In fact, Loki probably did not need to be led at all, not when he could feel magic radiating from a source in the deep corner of the castle. The sense of power was palpable, and Loki very much hoped his borrowed magic would be compatible enough for him to be able to coax the restraining powers to let go. 

Annie stopped in front of another heavy door. This time Loki made a careful check for magic-- and for other occupants-- before Natasha tackled the door. The lock gave, the handle moved, and the group swiftly slipped inside. 

Across the room, behind a sheet of glass that made Loki's heart beat faster, stood the other Loki. 

~oOo~

Loki was so intent upon the door that he could practically feel his nerve endings vibrate. He was acutely aware of how alone he was, which was to him an unpleasant and unaccustomed feeling. He had once hardly noticed the state, accepting it as natural to be alone even in the company of others, so inured that he scarcely felt it. That had changed, since the void-- it had changed in the void, when the howling emptiness had burrowed deep into his bones and blood so it could scarcely be borne, and certainly not ignored. It had changed after his capture, when he struggled in his bonds, desperately hoping for rescue that never came and knowing there was no one who searched for him. It was already changed when he went on his involuntary mission, with nothing at his back but the knowledge of what awaited him if he failed. 

When he lay in his cell waiting for death to take him.

He had been alone for centuries, until he had hardly comprehended the meaning of _loneliness._ But now, once again, he knew it as he had not since childhood, and the absence of Annie's friendly presence was an ache even in his increasing fear. 

He hoped Doom and the vampire would not return to mock him before Annie came back. 

His magic was still weak, and muffled by the workings that guarded the cell, which meant he was unable to identify the beings he heard approaching the door. When he heard them manipulate the locks he took up his position facing the door, hands clasped behind his back, wishing for the high collared coat that had once concealed the pulse at his throat. 

He could not tell who was at the door, but the delay in opening, the sound of someone working the lock as though to force it, sent hope blooming through his veins. He wiped any sign of it from his face, schooled his pulse to slow and his expression to remain coolly neutral-- he would give his captors nothing to mock, should this prove to be a trick. 

And then the door moved, and several figures slipped through. Annie was first and he breathed a little easier at the sight of her. Following Annie came a familiar bulk in red-white-and-blue and two black clad figures with bright red hair. The last time he spoke to Steve and Natasha they had not been in their combat gear, and the sight of them so garbed should have reminded him of bad times, of the reasons he had to distrust them-- and they, even moreso, to hate and distrust him. The sight of the second red head should certainly have set all his senses to high alert. Annie had told him, had warned him of the other Avengers, and here was one of them-- if not the one he least wished to meet-- come to ensure he did not escape.

He should have been alarmed at the thought, fearful of what was to come next, afraid of being taken away by force no matter what Annie and her friends promised.

The thought did not even cross his mind, because along with the others, standing close by Annie, was a skinny black-haired figure who immediately became the focus of Loki's attention. 

It was like looking into a mirror.

It was like looking into the _past._

If he concentrated, he could, just, remember a face like that looking back at him from his mirror. Not quite the same face-- no matter how far back he cast his memory, he was sure he would never find in his mirror a face so devoid of stiffness and tension, of anger. 

The features had once been his, but he was quite sure he had never been this young.

He was not conscious of moving, but quite suddenly he found himself within arm's reach of the cell wall. On the other side of the glass, the other Loki offered a slightly tentative smile.

"Loki? I am very glad to meet you." He sounded nervous, which was ridiculous considering he was the one who _belonged._ When he realized there would be no response-- Loki's throat was dry and stiff and he _could not_ utter a word-- the other, strangely younger Loki went gently on, "Suppose we get you out of there."

From inside the cell, Loki nodded.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _Regarding a small point of psychology in this chapter-- I know a lot of fics depict Loki as pretty much an exhibitionist, but Housemates!Loki is derived directly from Loki in the first movie, who was always completely covered up even when the Warriors Three were lounging around in their shirtsleeves, and who sometimes struck me as looking uncomfortable in his own skin. I've extrapolated a bit from that for H!Loki._
> 
> _Also, thanks to the person who offered assistance on the variation of a song lyric quoted here. I seldom Britpick but I ask advice on this one._
> 
> **_Warnings:_** _I really apologize for the understandable confusion you may feel as you read parts of this chapter, but I just couldn't see H!Loki mentally assigning a different name to A!Loki without feeling guilty about it-- or A!Loki being willing to answer to it. Conveniently, though, H!Loki does come up with a way of reminding himself where he belongs, and that should be helpful at least part of the time._

The glass-fronted cell had given Loki a jolt of anxiety for reasons he did not understand, but the feeling passed off rapidly. It was not so much that it went away, exactly-- it was more a case of being smothered by another set of emotions altogether.

 _Those_ needed no explanation: the jolt he felt at the sight of the prisoner was perfectly understandable. Loki tried not to stare at the other Loki, who appeared to have no such qualms and glared back through the glass as though trying to turn him to stone or burn him to ash with the power of his mind. 

Mitchell, or someone-- Thor? -- had told him the other Loki seemed older than himself, appeared worn-out and tired. He had of course formed a mental picture of what that might look like, but to see his imaginings in the flesh was a different matter. 

It was particularly a different matter with the other Loki wearing _his_ clothing-- the very same clothing, in fact, that he had worn for the appearance on Ellen's television show. Loki had not seen the episode, but he fondly hoped to have left a less upsetting impression on her viewers. The jeans, blue cotton shirt, and leather jacket served to cover the other Loki to the wrists and throat. This was familiar, habit being a powerful thing-- it had to be very hot indeed for Loki of Bristol to eschew garments that entirely concealed his scrawny paleness, and he understood the other Loki's instinct to hide himself. 

The effort at camouflage was not entirely successful: covered he might be, but the loose fit of shirt and trousers gave away as much as it concealed. And besides, his face told all that anyone needed to know, any softening flesh long since starved away. The bone structure of his skull was so prominent as to cast shadows at temple and cheek, and his deep-set eyes burned out at the world like fires in a cavern.

It was an angry face-- even a hateful face-- but it was also a hungry, lonely, vulnerable face. It looked, Loki thought with an inward shiver, very much like the face that had stared back at himself from the mirror for all those centuries, if one had been able to see beneath the skin to the shriveled, starveling soul behind it. 

There was a story he had heard reference to, of a picture that bore the age and iniquities of the one it represented, until the picture was hideous and the man who committed all the sins remained young and fair. It was easy to imagine this other Loki as the picture, having taken on all the sins and the griefs he himself had ever suffered or committed, and leaving himself unscathed. 

That was fanciful, he rebuked himself, and worse it was selfish. This other Loki was a person of his own, not an extension of anyone else. He had done, and suffered, dreadful things, and now he was a shadowy starved creature waiting for the next disaster to befall him. 

_No wonder Annie was so determined to help him._ Nothing about this Loki, except perhaps his actual physical intentions, was a threat to Loki of Bristol. And Loki of Bristol found himself both confident he could hold his own against an attack by this Loki, and also very unwilling to do anything that might distress him enough to provoke one. 

The Loki behind the glass took a slow step forward, then another, until he was nearly at the barrier. This seemed a transparent effort to intimidate, but it was otherwise difficult to read his intentions, if even he knew what they were-- Loki of Bristol could not be the only one experiencing a great many conflicting and painful emotions at this moment. He smiled in an effort to put the other slightly more at ease. 

"Loki?" he said, ridiculously, as if either of them could possibly be in doubt about the identity of the other. Feeling foolish, he went awkwardly on, "I am very glad to meet you." Understandably, the other Loki offered no acknowledgement of this fresh idiocy. Returning to the matter at hand, Loki went on, "Suppose we get you out of there." 

There was the fraction of a second's hesitation, and then the other Loki nodded stiffly. 

"Very good," Loki went on, conscious that he sounded like the host of a very uncomfortable house party. Possibly the kind where someone was murdered and an elderly lady solved the crime in between bouts of knitting.

Allowing himself a few seconds' nonsense seemed to help. In a slightly more confident tone, he went on, "If you will give me a moment-- "

"There are wards," the other Loki spoke up, his tone harsh. _Defensive,_ Loki noted in passing. 

"Annie said there were," Loki of Bristol agreed. "And of course, if there were not, you would not now be here."

Inside the cell, Loki nodded again. And then, reluctantly-- as if admitting to a weakness, he went on, "They appear to be directed inward, to prevent spellwork by from the occupant. They seem to be... they affect my... I do not know whether they will also resist an effort from outside in the same way."

"Thank you for the warning," Loki said seriously. "I was able to commandeer a little of the magic present in this land, and it may help us to control the spells that confine you." The other Loki, he noted, seemed to unbend ever so slightly at that magical word, _us._ This other Loki, he reminded himself, had effectively been abandoned after his fall, had suffered and committed wrongs that Loki of Bristol would not dare to dream of in his worst nightmares-- but it seemed they still had this much in common. 

He smiled again, unsure it was wise but still hoping to reassure. "You should perhaps stand back a little, in case something… You should stand back." The second Loki glanced doubtfully at him and then, without comment, stepped away from the glass. So did the rest of the party, which was probably wise. 

Conscious that time was passing and they had little to waste, Loki closed his eyes and concentrated on clearing his mind. Then he pushed his own power toward the cell, allowing it to flow up and down the glass like syrup. He felt it meet the magic permeating the cell, could almost visualize the two forces intermingling. His own magic was by now interlaced with the borrowed power, so that it all felt nearly the same, and when it met the working on the cell all the magic eddied around each other. Loki found it helpful to visualize this as two kinds of cake batter swirling together, like the time Thor had made a "marble cake" combining white and chocolate batter. (Thor had done all the preparation, but then Annie had been in charge of monitoring whether the cake was baking properly, since Thor with his heavy tread caused cakes to fall if he approached them at the critical moment. This was, for obvious reasons, not a concern with Annie.)

Firmly pulling his mind back to the task at hand, Loki allowed his magic to rest for a moment, curled gently around the other. Ordinarily it was not necessary to speak during a working, and he generally did not care to divide his attention while engaged in a spell that might prove dangerous. This time, however, the others needed to know exactly what might be about to happen. Making eye contact with the other Loki, he said,

"I am quite sure I will be able to pull this magic away from the cell so that you may get out. However, that will cause a large magical surge that Doom is sure to notice. You and the others should therefore escape by the most direct route possible, while I create a diversion."

"By yourself?" Natasha asked sharply, over Annie's involuntary noise of protest.

"Yes," Loki replied. "We should, if possible, make Doom believe I am the other Loki-- surely our magic will feel similar to him, and if I make myself conspicuous and he-- " he nodded toward the Loki in the cell-- "does no casting, Doom may not notice him go."

"And suppose he catches you?" Steve demanded. 

Loki shrugged. "I will do my best to ensure that does not happen. Between my own power and that I have borrowed-- " _especially the latter,_ Loki was careful not to say, though he was confident his own magic was recovering nicely-- "I should be able to evade him, and then climb through Yggdrasil to find my way back to the helicarrier. We have no more time to waste arguing. Loki, we should trade shirts before you go-- " fortunately, they both wore jeans, so a public exchange of trousers would be unnecessary-- "and all of you get out of here with all speed."

Natasha's expression went mulish. "You're not staying here alone."

"Nor is _he_ leaving without you and Steve," Loki shot back, and the look on her face became one of frustrated agreement while the other Loki's tense shoulders unwound very slightly. Even in the company of Annie, Natasha, and Steve, the other Loki was apt to be anxious in the presence of the Agent Romanov from his own dimension. Leaving Natasha or Steve behind with himself would naturally influence the odds and make him feel even more at a dangerous disadvantage. That felt like cruelty.

"I'll stay with you," Agent Romanov spoke up. 

_No._ "I accept," Loki said quickly, ruthlessly squashing the instinct to refuse. He would much prefer to complete his mission alone rather than _have his back watched_ by someone he did not trust and who did not trust him (several centuries was more than enough of _that)_ but there was no time to argue. And besides, while he created his diversion the Black Widow might be able to gather valuable intelligence. 

Also, of course, it might be easier for each of them to concentrate on their mission if neither of them cared much about the safety of the other. SHIELD's word was _compromised,_ and it would be an interesting novelty for Loki to be uncompromised-- to work with a partner for whom he felt neither love nor hate. Or both. 

Natasha nodded, glanced at Steve and Annie to forestall any possible protest, and gestured at Loki to continue. 

Conscious of everyone's eyes on him, especially those of the other Loki, he wrapped his own magic more firmly around the other power, took a deep breath, and _pulled._ The effort was rather like the magical equivalent of Thor bringing Mjolnir to bear upon the situation, and the result felt quite similar. Well, except perhaps for the feeling within Loki of having expended a colossal effort-- Thor generally looked as though his mighty blows with Mjolnir were the equivalent of swatting at mosquitos. Although perhaps his brother was simply a better actor than Loki assumed-- he had never actually _asked._

Inside the cell, the other Loki seemed to uncurl slightly, as if no longer weighed down by something, and Loki shook his head to remind him not to try to add his own powers to the effort. It would not do to deplete whatever he had when he might need it again shortly, and besides they should not take the chance of Doom recognizing two separate occurrences of a similar magical signature. 

The magic encasing the cell clawed for purchase like a cat climbing up the curtains, and Loki stumbled a little as it let go. The cell door flew open under a little pressure, and the other Loki bolted through. 

"Shirt," Loki ordered as he released the working and wriggled his arms out of his sleeves. The other Loki hastily undid the top two buttons of the dark blue shirt, then shrugged out of the leather jacket and pulled the shirt over his head. His upper body matched the bony wasted face above it, and Loki handed over the black knit shirt with all speed, trying to keep horrified pity out of his expression. The other Loki studiously ignored the onlookers as he pulled on the shirt, but he glared when Loki handed back the jacket. 

"Take it," Loki ordered. "They will assume I have lost it somewhere, and it would only restrict my movement." 

Both of them knew that part was a lie, but the dungeon was chilly and Loki felt cold just looking at the other Loki-- who pulled the garment on without further hesitation. "Go," Loki ordered, with a quick smile for Annie. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but thought it might seem... overly possessive, in front of the other Loki.

Not that he knew what the other Loki's feelings were for Annie. That was something to fret about later, when he had leisure. 

The group dashed out of the dungeon and into the corridor, where Annie hastily led away the party that was leaving. She glanced back once and Loki raised a hand in a brief farewell. 

And then he dropped the hand, and also a cloak of magic over Agent Romanov, hiding her from the notice of the magic-spying Doombots as they came clanking with all speed to investigate the disturbance. 

The noisy troop rounded the corner only a moment after the others had disappeared, to see Loki apparently in the act of exiting the dungeon. His show of dismay at being seen would not have seemed out of place on the more obnoxious sort of mime, but fortunately the Doombots were no critics of theatre. Unobtrusively shepherding Agent Romanov before himself, Loki turned and fled. 

Since the Doombots blocked the corridor in one direction, Loki necessarily ran in the other. This was most unfortunately the direction in which the others had gone. Having no desire to catch them up or direct the Doombots after them-- and also having the spark of a plan he hoped would also suit Agent Romanov's agenda in staying-- Loki headed directly toward the only other familiar door in the corridor. 

"Oh shit," muttered Agent Romanov, quite appropriately, as Loki jerked open the door to the old privy and they both slipped through. "Loki, what are you-- ?"

Loki pulled the door closed behind them, fused the lock and hinges with a blast of magic, and placed on it a tenacious spell-- a variant on one he had for many years used on his chambers in Asgard. 

"Doom is above us," he explained. "As long as we are providing a diversion, we might as well see whether there is anything to spy upon. I hope you are a good climber." 

Agent Romanov did not bother with a reply-- of course the Black Widow could climb, and the rough stone walls offered hand- and footholds aplenty. As the Doombots fruitlessly struggled with the door, their quarry began the climb to safety. 

Or, well, perhaps not _safety._

"I certainly hope there aren't more of them waiting for us at the top," Agent Romanov remarked, apparently through clenched teeth. 

"They are not especially noted for critical thinking skills," Loki replied, speaking rather more easily. He may have little talent as a melee fighter, but Loki had honed other abilities more suited to his talents as a sneak. Should his present career plans fall through-- _do not think of falling!--_ he could always make a living for himself as a cat burglar. 

Which was, of course, a joke. Really.

And speaking of jokes, Loki had always known his sense of humour could be inappropriate, but to find himself in company with the _Black Widow,_ climbing up the inside of what amounted to a primordial _toilet--_

"Are you laughing?" Agent Romanov demanded. From the tone of her voice it was just as well she had not a hand free to reach for a weapon. 

"Sorry," Loki choked out, before succumbing again to muffled giggles. 

_"What?"_ she demanded, and that was when Loki realized he was alarming her. Well, of course he was: she had no reason to trust him, and apparently a considerable number of reasons to be wary of anyone named Loki, and now she was in a highly vulnerable position with a Loki who appeared for some reason to be amused by her predicament--

"I apologize," Loki said quickly. "I promise you, I am not laughing up my sleeve as I concoct some villainous plot." _For one thing, my sleeves are currently inaccessible, my arms being fully occupied with supporting my weight._

Probably better to keep that little thought to himself.

"Then what's so damn funny?" she demanded, reasonably enough and despite obviously having little breath with which to make inquiries. 

"I really am sorry," Loki assured her. "I simply... I find myself thinking of the song."

 _"What_ song?" It was evident from Romanov's tone that her patience was nearly at an end, and the best course was to simply answer her question. 

Which as it happened also coincided with the most desirable thing to do when tormented by a song running through one's head. With some relief, Loki therefore began softly to sing, 

_"Incy-wincy spider climbed up the waterspout_  
_Down came the rain and washed the spider out-- "_

Agent Romanov was silent for a moment. Then, 

"Remind me to stab you when I have a free hand."

From Natasha, that would almost certainly have been a joke. Loki decided to treat it as one. Particularly since Agent Romanov was not currently in a position to carry out her threat.

"Certainly," Loki replied, just as his hand made contact with a wooden barrier above his head. "And here we are. Can you hold on a little longer?" 

"Yes." Firm and confident. _Good._

"Very well. I am going to climb out and... do something to attract Doom's attention. When I have drawn him and his Doombots away, you should look around for anything that resembles a, a study or command room, and see what you can find. And for the love of everything, keep alert for vampires. We know Wyndham is here somewhere, and he is _very_ powerful. There may be others as well."

"Right," said Romanov, as Loki pushed upward with magic and forced the boarded-up privy seat to tear loose from its fastenings. Loki slithered out from underneath it, then set it carefully back to hide Agent Romanov. As he left her, she was sinking some sort of handhold into the stone so that she might hold on longer.

"I will find you when it is time to go," he promised. If Agent Romanov made any reply, he did not hear it. 

As Loki made for the door of the privy, he reflected on his gratitude that she had not wasted time asking why he had not thought to use magic to fly them up to this level. The answer, of course, was that he had no idea how much power he might be called upon to use, if he and Doom came to grips. It seemed wisest to conserve whatever he had. 

Before exiting the room he looked quickly around. There were shelves along one stone wall-- metal shelves, modern ones. Apparently the ancient privy had been put to use as a store room. Loki took a quick look to see whether there was anything here he might put to use as a weapon. And in fact-- 

With a plastic bottle tucked under his arm, Loki opened the door of the privy/store room and peered out. The shining, marble-floored _(good)_ corridor was empty-- which he expected to change very shortly. Loki ran softly-- Midgardian running shoes were so much quieter than Asgardian boots-- in the direction in which he thought he would find Doom. 

He had covered only about half the length of the corridor when he heard, coming toward him, the clashing tramp of iron boots on marble-- but only one pair of iron boots. 

_Doom._

And, pacing along with him, almost too quietly for even Loki to hear, was a soft predatory tread that had to belong to the vampire, Wyndham. 

After seeing what Mitchell could do to the mind of a human, and remembering his friend's warnings concerning the much greater powers of the Old Ones, Loki had no desire to challenge Edgar Wyndham. At least, not when he was alone, was meant to be creating a diversion, and was, so to speak, Agent Romanov's ride home besides. 

At some later date he fully intended to pit his own powers against those of the vampire, but given the stakes he preferred not to be on his own when he did. And just at the moment, of course, he had other priorities anyway. 

Among those priorities was remaining at a great enough distance that Doom and Wyndham did not notice he was a different Loki. Perhaps they were no more observant than the other Thor, but it seemed unwise to count on it. Accordingly, when the footsteps were nearly at the corner that turned into his own corridor, Loki wheeled and fled in the opposite direction. To begin with he ran just fast enough to ensure he would not _quite_ get away clean.

Behind him came a shout of anger, a ridiculous command to _stop._ The voice was deep, booming, slightly distorted by the iron mask that covered the speaker's face. In response, Loki ran faster, past the door to the old privy, heading for a second heavy oaken door that was built into the corner of the outside wall. 

As he had gambled, this door opened into an old circular stone staircase-- perhaps he would _not_ confess to Agent Romanov that if Loki had taken an extra moment to think, he could have saved them the climb. And the song. Regardless, Loki once again hesitated just long enough to ensure Doom and the vampire saw him, then ducked into the stairwell and followed it upwards. 

This was obviously an idiotic thing to do-- as he scampered up, placing his feet carefully on the crumbling stone steps, Loki could not help but think of Thor, who was reliably infuriated by such behaviour in films. His brother would often shout in exasperation at the television, demanding to know whether the character fleeing onto a _roof_ expected to be _rescued_ by _giant eagles._

It was indeed a fair question.

Loki, naturally, could _become_ a giant eagle if he really wished to, but at the moment all he wanted was to ensure his pursuers remained keen and focused upon himself, and also that he did not run into the Doombots he had left behind down in the dungeon on their way up the staircase. From below him came the sounds of pursuit-- still only the two of them-- but they were not yet gaining on him. Loki counted himself fortunate he was both a magical alien and also in good physical condition. 

And then he was at the next level up, bursting out of the stairwell and looking around for another escape route. There was a window with a nice wide ledge that seemed suitable to his purpose. 

Before he made for it, however, he had one more thing to do. It was quite true he was in no position to take on Doom and his ally singlehanded, but he needed to slow them down so that he might return to fetch Agent Romanov. 

And besides, he was a spiteful creature, and if he could not be certain of doing his enemies harm, he could at least make them seem ridiculous.

He twisted the top from the plastic bottle in his hands-- it contained hand soap, the sort Loki used in dispensers in the lavatories at school, which suggested human staff somewhere about, as well as indoor plumbing and other facilities. Not that Loki currently needed a toilet. The point was, such soap was stored in bottles, in the form of a thick slippery liquid which emerged from its special dispensers as foam. 

It was the thick slippery liquid that currently interested him. 

Loki swiftly poured out the liquid soap, ensuring it was nicely spread out across the shiny marble floor, then tossed away the bottle. He dashed toward the window just as Doom and the vampire came charging out of the stairwell. 

Doom was in the lead and hit the soap first. His steel-clad feet slithered, his arms flailed, and he grabbed at the vampire with his mail-clad hands. Both of them crashed to the stone floor, sliding ludicrously about in a kicking, cursing heap. Loki went out the window, this time not even trying to stifle the urge to laugh, and held onto the sill as he cast about for Agent Romanov. 

Doom and Wyndham had just staggered to their feet when Loki vanished in a flash of green. 

~oOo~

Agent Romanov waited inside the privy while the sound of running feet passed by. As soon as she heard them crashing up the stairwell, Romanov slipped out and ran in the direction from which Doom and Wyndham had come. If her luck held, Doom would have been in whatever passed for his study, and the door would be unlocked. 

It was better than unlocked, it was wide open. Romanov ducked inside the room and looked around. There were maps on the walls and blueprints on the big table in the middle of the floor. With no time to wonder what she was looking at, Romanov simply took a tiny camera from her pocket and began photographing everything she could see. City maps. Floor plans of public buildings and drawings of their grounds. Rosters that might have represented troops-- or more Doombots. 

She had one ear cocked toward the door as she worked, moving as fast as possible. No Doombot could have crept up on her-- but she was still taken by surprise when Loki suddenly materialized at her elbow. 

"I think we should leave now," he breathlessly announced, just as the sound of clanking made itself heard outside the door. "We will have company in a moment and they will not be in a welcoming mood."

"Fine," agreed Romanov, tucking her camera away-- if Loki had Doombots in hot pursuit of him, she definitely wanted to get out of their way. "What's your plan?"

"Hold on," Loki ordered, wrapping an arm around her waist. "And it might be best if you keep your eyes closed. I have never before done this with a human."

 _Not a line he should repeat in front of Stark,_ Romanov had time to think-- and then the door burst open behind them, Loki's arm tightened around her, and she had a sickening feeling of being warped and stretched out of shape, then sucked into what felt like a whirlpool. There was a sense of nothingness around and under her, the only thing that felt real or solid was Loki pressed against her and if she could have moved she probably would have hung onto him like a life preserver--

\-- And then the ground was back and Loki's arm was gone. Romanov wobbled on her feet, ears ringing. When she opened her eyes it was to find Loki's face, far too close to hers, distorted like an image in a fish-eye lens but recognizably worried-looking. His mouth opened in a question she couldn't yet hear, and then other faces-- Barton and Rogers-- were there as well and Loki backed away. 

Romanov raised a hand to wave the others off as the world steadied and she felt herself springing back into her proper shape and… texture. Her hearing returned next. When she was sure she wasn't going to vomit, she looked around for Loki. 

"Well, that was unexpected," she managed. Loki looked relieved as she spoke, but before he could say anything Agent Hill came in. Still not tracking perfectly, Romanov missed the first part of what the other agent said, but managed to catch two words: 

_"New Mexico."_

A second later there was a green flash and Loki was gone. Looking around, Romanov didn't see Thor, either. 

Across the command room, Stark spoke for all of them:

"I really hate magic." 

"I don't know," Romanov replied, rubbing her temples. "I think it has its moments."


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _In which something finally comes to a head, and scientists must test their hypotheses._
> 
>  
> 
> _Clearly this story doesn't already have enough characters, so have a couple of cameos. There is a reference in this chapter to a character's US Air Force rank-- this is not canon, but I believe his rank is not actually given in canon anyway, so I'm going along with a plausible-sounding theory from an online discussion I found while looking for the information. Also, any geographic points in this chapter are based on some info I looked up about the locations used in the original **Thor** movie._
> 
>  
> 
>  _I've changed the origin of a particular piece of tech, on the theory that Stark Industries is responsible for pretty much all the tech in this universe anyway._
> 
> _Also I have co-opted a line from **The Winter Soldier** and given it to someone else. Sorry about that._
> 
> **_Warnings:_** _In case we need some._

The Avengers thought they had taken Doom unawares when they came sneaking and prying like burglars. This was untrue: Doom saw all, and Doom knew. As Thor and Iron Man flew over property belonging to Doom, they encountered the spell that watched for intruders, warning of them. 

When he felt the working engage, Doom turned away from Wyndham, raising a hand to silence the vampire in mid-sentence. 

"What?" the creature demanded, querulous. 

"I felt a great disturbance," Doom replied, his tone magisterial. Wyndham blinked, then seemed about to speak. Ignoring him, Doom once again raised a mailed hand, gesturing. A shining translucent globe appeared before them, floating above the table covered by Doom's maps and plans. 

The inside of the globe was dark, lit only by what seemed to be the moon and stars. Doom made another gesture and the room, too, became dark. Without the outer light source to confound their eyes, it was possible now to see the flare of Iron Man's jets, and the glow of magic that surrounded Mjolnir.

"Where are they?" asked Wyndham, slow and puzzled. _Fool._ And then, sharply, "Is that your-- ?"

As he spoke, Thor changed position in the air, so that Mjolnir was raised high above his head. A moment later, lightning flashed down from the sky, striking a great dark shape below. The globe was lit up just long enough for the watchers to see the stone and timber lodge that had so recently served as their headquarters in the Highlands. As they watched, one of its chimneys disintegrated and the roof was engulfed in flame. In the next moment Iron Man went on the attack, bolts of light from his gauntlets destroying another of the chimneys and tearing a gaping hole in the wall below it.

As he watched, Doom's wrath was a living thing, roaring and twisting within him. They would molest that which belonged to Doom? They would _dare?_

This would not stand. Doom refused to permit it. Shaking with rage, he threw open the door and stormed down the corridor, to a larger chamber containing the mechanisms that controlled his Doombots. The Avengers would attack the property of Doom? He would show them their folly. He reached toward the main switches, the ones that would activate his entire army, those in his hidden bases in every far-flung corner of the world. Let them see what destruction was!

And then he paused. Doom's wrath was dreadful, but Doom was wise. The vampires were not yet ready to strike, and deploying his entire force now would damage communication and transport systems of which they had need. 

No, Doom would not jeopardize his real objective simply for petty revenge. His vengeance must wait. 

But still, such insolence must be punished. This disrespect by the prince of Asgard toward the ruler of Latveria must be answered. 

A moment's thought revealed the appropriate course of action. Doom entered a specific set of coordinates and initiated the activation sequence. He smiled behind his mask as he did so. The prince of Asgard would learn his actions had consequences. 

He was about to return to the map room when he felt yet another magical surge, this time within the castle itself. _The prisoner. He was trying to escape._ Yet another instance of disrespect that must be punished. Well, this one Doom would deal with personally. 

_Very_ personally. 

Turning on his heel so that his cloak flared out behind him, Doom strode from the room.

Behind him, on the console, the activation sequence continued. 

~oOo~

Darcy had been pretty disappointed at first, when she found out Tony Stark wasn't coming to New Mexico to personally oversee testing of his new tech for SHIELD. Who wouldn't want to hang out with Iron Man, right?

The disappointment lasted until about five minutes after she and Jane met Pepper Potts for lunch at the little diner in town. Stark Industries' CEO was intimidatingly poised and gorgeous, even in jeans and a simple white shirt, but she was also warm and friendly and all kinds of awesome. It had been a while since Darcy'd had a serious girl crush on anybody-- the last time had been her Introductory Poli Sci professor at the University of Albuquerque, an _awesome_ Navajo woman who was the reason Darcy ended up with the major she had-- but she didn't even try to fight this one.

"I can't decide whether I want to be just like her or propose to her," Darcy hissed to Jane when Pepper excused herself to make a phone call. "I think I might do both. I hope you won't find that awkward."

Jane was smothering a giggle when Pepper came back to the table. The other woman raised an eyebrow, inviting Jane to share the joke, but didn't press when Jane changed the subject.

"How did the testing go?" Jane asked. Isabelle, who owned the diner, arrived just then to take their orders and exchange a little small talk. After she moved on, Pepper replied, 

"It went quite well, I thought. Rhodey's pleased with the new War Machine suit, and the other-- " Pepper smiled apologetically. "That one's still confidential at this point, but we're pretty excited about it. Rhodey was sorry not to join us for lunch, but you know what pilots are like, once the official testing was done he and Master Sergeant Wilson just wanted to keep flying."

"I don't know what that would be like. Thank goodness astrophysicists never get all wrapped up in their work and forget to stop for lunch," Darcy remarked. Jane blushed. Pepper laughed and then asked Jane how her work was going. Jane brightened up and started talking rapidly. Darcy wasn't sure Pepper actually understood most of what Jane was saying, but the CEO certainly looked interested. Darcy only understood about a quarter of it herself and she was right there all the time, but she still thought that was pretty good for a Poli Sci major who'd only gotten the internship in the first place because all the other applicants were (male) astrophysics grad students who didn't bother to hide their opinion that Jane was a loony. 

Yeah, and now Jane was the one with the fully-funded research program and the (hot) alien... _colleague..._ (well, he was her colleague when they talked about Bifrosts and Rainbow Bridges, right?) and Darcy hoped all those assholes who used to sneer at Jane were _choking_ on it. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Pepper's cell rang, which was a little weird because Pepper had said something about setting it to silent mode when they'd arrived at the diner in the first place. Judging by her face, Pepper wasn't so much surprised as alarmed, and she immediately did the poised elegant version of diving for her purse to scrabble for her phone.

"Sorry," she said, "that's JARVIS's override-- Yes?" Whatever was said on the other end of the line caused all the colour to drain from her face. "Understood. Yes." She lowered the phone-- without, Darcy noticed, ending the call-- and rose to her feet, looking at the other two women. "Do you ever have tornadoes here?" 

"What?" asked Jane, looking completely bewildered. 

"Tornadoes. Or any kind of-- If people in this town had to get under cover in a hurry, where would you go?"

Darcy's stomach turned over as she remembered the giant murderbot from space. _Don't be stupid, Loki's not evil anymore, he isn't going to attack us again._

"When we were attacked.. that time, everyone headed for the mountains," Jane replied evenly. 

Pepper looked grim. "That's not going to be an option this time."

~oOo~

No doubt about it, the new War Machine suit was a big upgrade from the last mark: more speed, better turning radius, heavier armour and weaponry. For a guy who no longer made weapons, Tony certainly still came up with some great ideas for weapons. 

_And speaking of those great ideas--_

"On your left!" Wilson's voice came through the comm link, and the newly-christened Falcon shot past a hovering Rhodey, then banked into a hard turn to starboard in front of him that turned into a tight circling maneuver around the War Machine suit. Rhodey hoped SHIELD hadn't decided to record the pilot's commentary from this test flight: he was pretty sure all they'd get out of Wilson right now was _Wheeeeeeeee!_

Couldn't blame him, of course. Flying was great at the worst of times, but flying _with wings_ was better, and flying with _your own personal wings_ would have to be the most ridiculously cool feeling in the world. 

Not that Rhodey was jealous, honestly. For one thing, Wilson was a hell of a lot more exposed in that rig than Rhodey in the suit, if it came to a fight. Tony had some ideas for new lightweight armour he intended to add in the next stage of development, but for today Wilson was just familiarizing himself with firing the weapons while in flight. Shoot up some tumbleweeds, that kind of thing.

Wilson's voice broke in on his thoughts: "Are we expecting company?" 

"Say again?" Rhodey started to turn, and JARVIS, in the control system, said coolly, 

"I have identified a large number of small craft approaching from the Ortiz Mountains. I have not yet identified them, but there is no indication of either SHIELD or US Air Force activity in that location. They are on a heading toward Puente Antiguo. I suggest regarding them as hostile until-- "

"Shit!" Sharp and alarmed from Wilson, at the same moment as JARVIS interrupted himself to say, 

"The newcomers have commenced firing, sir. And I have now identified them as Doombots."

 _Damn._ Biting back the sort of language you didn't use on an open comm, Rhodey kept his voice level as he ordered, 

"Notify SHIELD, and local emergency services as well as law enforcement. Wilson, it looks like they're headed for the town. It's our job to stop them."

If Wilson replied, Rhodey didn't hear it, but as War Machine banked around to face the invaders, Falcon was right there with him. On his left. 

~oOo~

Among a number of things Loki did not plan to share with Agent Romanov was the fact he had had no idea whether he could safely bring a human with him as he climbed through Yggdrasil. Given the circumstances there had been little choice as far as means of escape were concerned, but lurking in the very depths of his mind was the shameful knowledge he was glad the experiment would be conducted on an alternate Avenger rather than one of the proper ones. 

Which did not diminish his relief when he stepped out of Yggdrasil to find himself back on the helicarrier-- a feat in itself, since this sort of travel was always easier when he began and ended his journey on the actual soil of a realm-- to find his arm still around Agent Romanov, and she not visibly harmed. 

Well, she did look rather nauseated, rather like Harry Potter after Apparating for the first time with Dumbledore, but perhaps that was only a form of the motion sickness that sometimes afflicted humans. Loki was trying to establish whether she was seriously ill when Agent Hill entered the room. 

"Director Fury, we just got a report of Doombot activity in New Mexico near Puente Antiguo."

Loki forgot all about Romanov (who, in his defense, seemed to be recovering rapidly.)

 _"Where?"_ he demanded. 

"They're after Foster?" demanded Fury-- Loki thought it was the Fury who belonged here, not that he cared.

"Seems so," Hill replied. "Rhodes and Wilson are testing their new tech in the desert near the town, but they're the only heavy weaponry in the area. We're getting reinforcements in as fast as we can but-- "

Fury's response was both pungent and unprofessional, but Loki was already reacting. 

Unfortunately, the wrong Thor was just as quick-- physically and otherwise-- as the right one. As Loki reached again for Yggdrasil, Thor reached for him. 

Loki generally referred to this sort of travel as climbing through the branches of Yggdrasil, but that was of course metaphorical. Which really was just as well, since it would be difficult indeed to climb a tree whilst dragging someone else along who was clutching him by the throat. 

_The moment he had leisure, Loki would bespell his own throat so the next person who attempted to throttle him would explode._

The thought was of course a passing bit of nonsense, and besides there was no telling when a leisure moment would occur. Assuredly, this was not it. 

His success at finding the helicarrier notwithstanding Loki found it far easier, when world-walking through Yggdrasil, to travel from one known location to another. Intimate knowledge of a place allowed for greater accuracy: he could by now step off the pavement in front of his house on Windsor Terrace and emerge on the walk leading up to the door of Tony's house in Scotland, or next to any specific flowering shrub in his mother's garden in Asgard. 

When his geographic knowledge was less precise, the results could be quite variable. However, he had visited Puente Antiguo before-- both as himself and... through an avatar-- and so even from a starting point he only knew to be "somewhere over the Highlands," he was able to navigate with considerable accuracy. 

_They're after Foster._ The thought was not only a spur to prick the sides of his intent-- to quote that play Director Fury liked so well-- it also reminded Loki that it mattered little _how_ Thor came to be with him at this moment. Or, to some extent, _which Thor._ So far as he could tell, there were many similarities between his own reality and that of the other Thor. Surely that meant there was also a Jane Foster in both realities. Surely she was equally precious to this Thor.

It would, of course, be greatly preferable to have his own brother with him now, but under the circumstances _any_ Thor was better than no Thor at all. 

So thinking, Loki stumbled out of Yggdrasil, Thor's fingers still wrapped around his throat, to find he had set them down squarely in the dusty yard in front of Jane's glass-fronted research headquarters, the former petrol station. From somewhere in the distance he could hear the wail of sirens, and he reached impatiently up to peel Thor's hand from his neck. 

Thor, alas, had other ideas: his grip tightened until anything more fragile than an Aesir spine would have snapped under its force. 

"What scheme is this?" Thor demanded, his face so close to Loki's that Loki was unable to focus upon him. "Tell me what your allies are planning, what you have done to Jane Foster-- "

And it was true there was justice in Thor's accusation, particularly if the other Loki had made-- and perhaps had really _meant_ \-- the same ugly threat toward Jane that Loki had uttered, that time on the Bifrost when all he had wanted was for Thor to hit him. 

Just though the accusation might have been, it was also a waste of that precious commodity, _time._ And hypocritical though it might be, Loki's temper was frayed and his patience at an end. It was true he had wronged Jane Foster, and her generous forgiveness of him did not change the fact. But that was a matter between himself, and Jane, and _his real brother,_ and no concern of this false Thor. 

Jane Foster would be far more greatly wronged if he and Thor wasted time brawling that should be spent in _protecting her from the Doombots._

Apparently Thor realized as much for himself: the blurred face close to his suddenly withdrew, and Loki felt the fingers about his throat loosening. 

And then the grip was torn from his throat as a blow from nowhere knocked both of them sprawling. 

~oOo~

JARVIS's call to Pepper was apparently only one of several alerts sent out at roughly the same time: the diner was still clearing out when, from down the street, came the wail of the Cold War-era warning siren. It had apparently been installed in the town hall in case of nuclear attack-- which, as Darcy well knew, said more about the paranoia of the era than the likelihood of Puente Antigua being seen as tactically important.

Mind you, between the murderbot from space and Jane's research, it might actually be time to rethink that assumption. 

The siren would have been dismantled decades ago except for the fact that New Mexico did, in fact, have the occasional tornado. Not _Wizard Of Oz_ -class ones, but serious enough to warrant keeping the warning siren. It had been used in earnest once since Darcy came here, one day last spring during heavy thunderstorms, when rotation had developed in a cloud and the chief of police decided better safe than sorry and sounded the alarm. Other than that the system was tested twice annually, when the time changed. The day the Destroyer attacked, everything had happened too fast for anybody to think of using the siren. 

The day was clear and blue, pretty obviously not tornado weather, and as the three women ran out of the diner Darcy noticed the people already in the street were looking around anxiously, not at the sky but for another fire-breathing robot. Anybody who paid attention to the Avengers-- which was pretty much _everybody_ \-- knew Thor's little brother was a reformed character these days, but you only had to go through a thing like that once to be pretty gun-shy about the prospect of a repeat performance. 

Not that it would be a good idea to say as much to Jane, who these days was quite friendly with Loki and didn't care for speculation like "suppose he flips out and gets evil again?" And besides, according to Pepper the attackers heading toward Puente Antiguo this time were Doombots, and everyone knew about Dr. Doom.

"Come on," Jane ordered, "we need to get back to the research station and make sure everything is secure." Darcy looked around one more time, making sure everyone she could see was okay and had someplace to go. Isabelle was shooing her line cooks, Javier and Mike, out the door of the diner. Down the street at the service station the owner, long black hair flying behind him, was running to shut off the flow to the gas tanks. The old guy everyone called Stan the Man was directing a bunch of young people into the back of his pickup while a lady with a couple of little kids climbed in the front seat.

There didn't seem to be anyone who needed them, so Darcy followed Jane to her rattly old research truck while Pepper ran for the black SUV that probably belonged to SHIELD. The research base wasn't far from downtown, and the way Jane was driving they'd be there in a couple of minutes. Darcy still found time to ask, 

"Do you know what's going on? Has Thor told you anything?"

"A little," Jane admitted. "He said Dr. Doom is doing something with interdimensional portals-- " despite the situation Jane's face still registered how it galled her not to know how Doom had managed _that_ \-- "and traded Loki for one from some other reality. The last message Thor sent me was that they've got Loki back but he didn't come back alone. It sounds like a mess."

"And this translates into a Doombot attack on us _how?"_ Darcy demanded. 

"I don't know," Jane snapped. "It's Dr. Doom, who knows what he's thinking? But I'm afraid he wants to use my research against the Avengers or something. We need to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Right," Darcy agreed, sounding as tough as she could. The base was just up ahead, and Darcy stared at it, mostly because she was afraid of what she might see if she looked back at the town. 

And then she let out a shriek because, in front of the old gas station, she could see two struggling figures: a tall skinny guy in jeans and a dark shirt and a far more easily recognizable figure in armour, with a red cape flapping behind him. 

It wasn't really a surprise for Thor and his brother to show up right now, not between the Bifrost and the fact Loki could apparently use magic to go pretty much anywhere he wanted in a matter of minutes. What was surprising, and was the reason for Darcy's shriek, was the fact Thor had Loki by the neck like Homer Simpson with Bart, and he seemed to be trying to strangle him. 

And on second look there was something _weird_ about Thor, something _not quite right._

Darcy had just registered that when she was thrown back against her seat as Jane pressed the accelerator to the floor. Who knew the old four-cylinder engine had it in her? 

"Hang on!" Jane commanded. 

"What are you-- ?"

"Shapeshifters!" Jane yelled back. "Remember New York? That isn't Thor!"

Darcy had just remembered the shapeshifters from space, the ones who had attacked a bunch of cities last summer, when the research truck-- in its final sacrifice for science-- plowed into the fake Thor at full speed. The truck definitely came out the worst in the encounter but at least fake-Thor lost his grip on Loki, who was thrown clear by the impact. 

Fake-Thor himself was knocked staggering, but recovered his footing and turned on them. Jane reached over and unsnapped Darcy's seatbelt. 

"Run!" she ordered, undid her own seatbelt and turned to look frantically in the back for anything she could use as a weapon. She came up with the first aid kit, which was in a metal case-- and which should have been a funny choice-- and kicked her door open. "Darcy, run!" she repeated. 

_Yeah, as if._ Darcy grabbed the fire extinguisher from the passenger door and stumbled out of the truck to back Jane up. 

"Get away from him," Jane ordered the fake Thor, brandishing the first aid kit in both hands. Loki had by now scrambled to his feet. Darcy didn't know him well enough to be as sure as Jane that he was the Loki who belonged here, but the fact he was being attacked by an impostor Thor made Darcy inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Thor looked at them and _smiled._ Admittedly it wasn't an evil smile, but it made him look really damned condescending. Whatever he really was, he hadn't done a very good job of researching the guy he was supposed to be replacing, because Thor hadn't looked this smug since before he got arrested at the SHIELD base that time.

"Calm yourselves," he began, as if he was talking to children. Darcy was getting ready to spray him in the face with the fire extinguisher just for that-- when Pepper's SUV plowed into him and this time knocked him on his ass. Looking a whole lot less poised and elegant but way more fierce than she had half an hour ago, Pepper came piling out of the SUV shouting to Loki, 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yes," Loki yelled back. "Everyone please stop!"

"He's some kind of shapeshifter," Jane insisted. 

"I am not!" Thor protested as he got to his feet, looking slightly winded. 

"He is not!" Loki insisted. 

"Well then, why was he attacking you?" Pepper snapped. 

"You are all mad," Thor muttered, but he didn't look nearly as smug as he had a minute ago. 

Loki was waving his hands in an effort to get the women's attention. "He really is Thor, just... not _our_ Thor. I promise you, Jane, he is not evil, nor is he a shapeshifter, it is just... things are rather different where he comes from. _Loki_ seems to be rather different," he admitted, looking pretty heartsick. "And so too is their relationship." 

Jane still looked like for two cents she'd throw the first aid kit at Thor. Thor was looking at Jane as if he had never seen her before, and she was steadfastly ignoring him. 

"Doombots," Darcy said loudly. 

"Rhodey and another operative have engaged them over the desert," Pepper said quickly, and gestured. "Out there. They need help."

"I will go to their aid," Thor announced, looking a little more like Thor except pompous. Ignoring Loki, he raised Mew-Mew over his head, whirled it a few times, and went soaring up into the sky. 

Loki turned to Jane. "Thor will come as soon as he learns what is happening. He will be here momentarily, I promise you. Thank you for-- " he gestured at the smashed-in research truck. 

And then he stepped back from them, away from the building. There was a green flash-- 

\-- and his clothes fell to the ground in an empty pile. 

Not _quite_ empty: as the three women looked on in confusion, the clothes began to move. 

And then a tiny green lizard crawled out from the collar of the shirt. He looked up at them as if he was about to offer to sell them car insurance or something.

The cowardly _bastard_. Jane had practically killed herself trying to protect him, and now he was going to scuttle off into the desert and hide? If he'd been closer to Darcy's feet she would probably have _stepped_ on him. 

Before she could do any such thing, though, the tiny lizard scurried away from them. Before it had gone ten feet it was enveloped in another green flash--

\-- And started to _grow._

Before their eyes the lizard sort of _unfurled,_ neck and tail extending, the digits on its front paws shooting out as webbing formed between them, its head all scaly and savage-looking--

And instead of a tiny lizard, in front of them crouched an honest-to-God dragon. _Smaug._ Holy shit, Loki had turned himself into _Smaug._ He looked at them out of blazing red eyes, and then his mouth opened and he rumbled at them, 

"Keep yourselves safe."

Darcy was aware her own mouth had fallen open, but she didn't seem to be able to close it. The dragon crouched on his haunches and spread his great scaly wings, preparing to take flight. 

Looked at them one more time, and spoke:

"I am _fire,"_ he said, and he did it, he actually used _the voice,_ he sounded exactly like Benedict Cumberbatch at the bottom of a well. Apparently he liked exactly the same movies Thor did. "I am _death,"_ he concluded, the drama queen, and it was _awesome._

And then he pushed off, the flapping of his wings kicking up a cloud of dust like he was a tornado himself, and flew away in the direction Thor had taken.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes:**_ _We all know that H!Loki is frequently prone to unproductive and self-loathing thoughts. However, his thoughts about Darcy, early in the chapter, are practical rather than self-pitying, and I think he's probably right._
> 
>  
> 
> _He is, in my opinion, also correct that Falcon actually looks more like a completely different winged creature, but that's neither here nor there. He may be wrong about a few other matters in this chapter, though._
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _Warnings:_** _None._

It was almost certainly wrong for Loki to be so touched that Jane and Pepper had been willing to, as Tony would say, _pick a fight_ with the false Thor to defend him. (Darcy, he reckoned, had almost certainly acted entirely to protect Jane, and for this he could not fault her.) The fact their assumptions had been flawed was entirely beside the point.

It was most definitely wrong for Loki to be amused that Jane's defense of him had taken the form of _running Thor down with her vehicle,_ but for that he would not apologize. Dear Jane. And Pepper. Truly, he did not deserve to have such friends. Even Darcy, whatever, her motivation, had been prepared to tackle the other Thor, and the mental image of her waving the fire extinguisher was one he would cherish.

He had scant leisure to enjoy the joke, however, not with Doombots flying toward them. Glad indeed that he had elected to conserve his magic during the rescue in Latveria, Loki still reached out hopefully to see whether there were forces here that he might persuade to help him. 

There was magic present indeed, powerful magic-- the number plate on Jane's crushed vehicle proclaimed this a land of enchantment, and spoke truth-- but when Loki tried to grasp any it slithered through his metaphorical fingers. He tried a second time, received a fleeting impression of--

_\-- Dust. The smell of sweet smoke. An echoing drumbeat like a heart, and a flash of colourful figures with shuffling, dancing feet--_

The impressions faded, the magic slipping away, utterly indifferent to his presence. There were, he thought, mages it would serve, but he was not one of them. Uneasily, Loki wondered for a moment whether his catastrophic first actions in this place had disposed the magic against him. Rationally-- and this was an opinion formed by considerable experience with ambient magic-- he admitted the idea was unlikely. This magic was attuned to a different type of mage, and it simply did not recognize him. The theory also fit in with his experiences at home: he had lived and worked his own sorcery in England for quite some time before those forces had acknowledged him. 

In spite of the evidence of a childhood spent trailing after Thor and his friends, Loki actually did know when he was wasting his time, and so he abandoned his useless efforts. Instead, he turned inward to use magic of his own. 

Given Jane's assumptions about shapeshifters just now, it might have been ironic this was the power Loki intended to use, but really, when dealing with enemies who could fly, it was difficult to see what else he could logically do. He needed to become something that could keep pace with them. 

Something large enough to draw the Doombots' attention, and to be able to hold its own in battle with them. 

Really, when one thought about it, lacking the ability to transform himself into a jet fighter (Loki could only transform into living creatures-- although given the weight of mythology he actually thought he could probably manage a Spitfire, at least for a minute or two) and given the obvious tactical limitations of giant eagles--

Really, there was only one logical shape for him to choose, and that was a dragon. 

A _fire-breathing_ dragon. 

Probably transforming into Smaug, specifically, was not a tactful choice, but Loki had his reasons. In the first place, having seen the relevant films quite recently, Smaug was clear in Loki's mind. He could also readily picture certain other dragons, but the Great Dragon of the _Merlin_ series-- to say nothing of Toothless, for whom he harboured a definite affection-- had the disadvantage of possessing six limbs in addition to a tail. Loki thought he might have difficulty, at least at first, in organizing four legs as well as two wings, and he had not time to spare for practice. Smaug flew like a bat, or a bird, and Loki was confident in his ability to manage that much. 

He was not especially sanguine about his ability to maintain such a transformation for very long, but with luck a couple of flaming passes would accomplish his purpose and then the superheroes could mop up whatever was left. 

His second problem at the moment was the small matter of his clothing, which naturally would not survive such a sudden and drastic increase in size. Admittedly, he was not overly attached to the blue shirt, and he possessed other jeans and undergarments, but it would be nice to be able to get dressed again once he changed back. Besides, he did not possess an unlimited quantity of respectable shirts with collars and buttons, and one did have the occasional need to wear something besides a t-shirt. 

Accordingly, Loki's first transformation was to something tiny enough to crawl out of the clothing, in this case a small green lizard. It was not a shape he could have held for long, either, owing both to its size and the fact it was a creature fond of wetter climes than this-- he could actually feel his skin drying in the desert air. 

No matter: he scurried a safe distance from the now-enormous women, and then called once more on his shapeshifting powers. 

Shapeshifting was one of the most entertaining types of magic Loki possessed, and if pressed he might admit that he sometimes changed shape for the sheer fun of trying on a different form. Most of the time the new form was one considerably smaller than himself. Occasionally he tried on a different human or Aesir shape as a disguise, and the time he and Agent Coulson had investigated Doom's first Scottish lair and had ended up nearly drowning in a lake, Loki had transformed into a Newfoundland dog so near his own mass that he probably could have maintained the shift nearly indefinitely. 

He had very seldom had reason to turn into anything so much larger than his natural form-- _forms--_ and the sensation was momentarily disorienting. He felt himself filling up with power, expanding in all directions, magic pushing and straining at the tiny shape that contained it, eyes blinded by the green light of his own sorcery--

And then it passed, and he was crouched on his knuckles in the dust, looking down at the three startled women. They had just rescued him, and now he would do his best to return the favour. 

It occurred to him, however, that-- especially given the business of the wrong Thor only a moment since-- his current form could not be a reassuring one. Particularly not to Darcy, who of course had little reason to trust his intentions except inasmuch as she trusted Jane's judgment. Dragons could speak, and so Loki used up a precious couple of seconds with the admonition: 

"Keep yourselves safe."

Pepper nodded, and Jane moved a little closer to Darcy, as though to indicate the younger woman was indeed under her protection. Darcy, busy staring at Loki as if she had never seen a dragon before, did not appear to notice. 

Loki spread his wings and prepared to fly after Thor--

\-- but it felt incomplete, somehow. 

Or perhaps Loki was simply addicted to amateur dramatics. And besides, Thor-- his own Thor-- would be _so_ disappointed in him, if he missed an opportunity such as this. 

So he turned back to the women. 

"I am _fire,"_ he proclaimed, summoning the correct voice-- which felt so natural to this form it was hardly an impersonation at all. Darcy goggled at him, but both Jane and Pepper looked reassuringly amused. "I am... _death,"_ he concluded, and on that note gave a great leap upward, flapping laboriously, and slowly gained height as he flew off in the direction Thor had taken. 

The enjoyment of his little joke did not last long. The situation was serious, and his acceleration in the dragon form was not exactly blinding. However, once underway he found himself capable of quite an acceptable airspeed velocity, and he did not feel nearly as heavy in the air as he had anticipated-- presumably owing to the hot gases he could feel building up inside his thorax. The great leathery wings, once he allowed the form to control his physical actions, could produce (and maintain) an impressive turn of speed even on the glide phase between beats. 

Scanning the air ahead of him for any sign of battle, Loki flew southward toward the town.

~oOo~

The chief of police was realistic about her three officers' chances against flying robots-- _none,_ and _why_ was Puente Antigua so attractive to killer robots in the first place?-- but they could at least ensure the town was evacuated. There wasn't really a safer place to send people, but the alternative was to be sitting ducks. 

She was running down the steps of the public library when the sun was blotted out by a black shape in the sky. Her first hopeful thought was a stealth fighter sent by the spy agency that kept tabs on the researchers at the old gas station. 

And then it flapped its wings.

 _To think I took this job because I thought it would be quiet after all those years in the Army,_ she thought, unholstering her sidearm just in case. She didn't need it.

The great creature flew on over the town and out into the desert. 

~oOo~

Outnumbered as they were, Rhodey and Wilson were simply trying to divert the Doombots from their course toward Puente Antigua, distract them until reinforcements arrived. 

Although where in hell the reinforcements were going to _come from_ was a bit of an open question. 

Rhodey blasted two more bots, damaging one pretty seriously, and asked JARVIS for a status report just as Wilson broke in on the communicator. Wilson was ordinarily a pretty cool customer, but his voice in the communicator was high and sharp:

"Bandit coming from the north. It looks like-- like a-- "

JARVIS broke smoothly into the communicator:

"Ms Potts has alerted me that Thor and Loki Odinson are coming to your assistance. She further informs me that Loki has taken the form of a dragon." 

"Hear that, Wilson? Dragon's a friendly," Rhodey called out, and pretended not to hear the muted obscenity with which this information was greeted. "JARVIS, show me."

The shape appeared in front of his eyes on the heads-up display, great wings beating irregularly as the creature sped south toward them. 

Which, as Rhodey would surely bring up later, made Loki a _firedrake from the North,_ and there was no way he hadn't done _that_ on purpose. Mind you, given how badly outnumbered they were, Rhodey was in no mood to quibble about reinforcements of any kind. If Loki had an army of elves in his back pocket-- or giant eagles-- Rhodey would be thrilled to see them. 

Thor came zooming up to join them, batting a Doombot out of the sky like it was nothing. Rhodey called to him, heard nothing in reply, and JARVIS confirmed that neither brother was connected to the communications network. 

Loki suddenly reared up in the air and back-winged to remain stationary, his bulk interposed between the oncoming Doombots and the town behind him. Head and neck extended, his chest and belly began to light up with a slow glow that suggested fire building inside him. 

The tactical implication was hard to miss, and Rhodey called to Wilson:

"Try to herd the bots toward Loki, and then break off so he can incinerate them."

"Roger that," Wilson agreed. Rhodey waved at Thor-- vaguely noticing there was something _off_ about him, which was something to worry about at a much later time-- and opened fire on the Doombots. 

It took very little herding, as a matter of fact: the bots were obviously programmed with a particular destination, and being mechanical they were hard to distract from their course-- which now seemed to lead right _through_ Loki. A couple of minutes ago Rhodey had thought his best chance was to knock down as many as possible and then engage the rest over their final target-- presumably either Puente Antiguo itself or Jane Foster's research base. He was pretty realistic about his and Wilson's chances for either survival or victory against such numbers, but what could you do? 

The situation had just changed drastically in their favour, but Rhodey knew they would have to act fast to take advantage of it. 

"Falcon-- Loki won't be able to hold onto that shape for very long. We have time for one pass, maybe two."

"Roger," Wilson replied.

 _Here we go,_ Rhodey thought. 

~oOo~

As the cloud of bots approached, Loki was also aware how little time he had in this form. He was, however, more taken up with considerations of his own effective range, and also with trying to maintain a sense of where his allies were: angry as he was at the other Thor, he had no desire to incinerate him. And certainly not Lt-Col Rhodes-- _Rhodey--_ or his comrade, whose wings made him resemble the angels of human iconography. 

His nostrils flared as he inhaled. He felt all his anger at Doom coalesce in his chest _(of course a dragon's fire was fueled by his anger)_ felt the bubble of heat within him swell and flare. At the very edge of his vision he saw War Machine, Thor, and the angel-winged agent breaking away from the bots-- 

\-- And then he was exhaling flame in a long blast, vicious satisfaction filling him as the first wave of _(his enemies)_ Doombots exploded or imploded or simply turned to ash. One or two bots managed to avoid their comrades' fate. A disadvantage of this form was the lack of forepaws with which to catch at them, but by lashing out with a back foot Loki managed to snatch one and crush it. War Machine swooped past him to deal with the other, then rocketed back around and, with Thor and the angel, went to meet the second wave of Doombots. Loki assumed they were programmed so in order to avoid having their entire host wiped out in a single engagement. 

It would have been better for Loki if he had faced the whole force at once. Still, having the second wave delay a moment gave him time to marshal his strength and his rage for the second fiery blast. The temptation to chase them down was terrible, but tactics were Loki's strength-- and his value-- and holding this position was his best chance of shielding the town behind him.

_His best chance of making amends._

Yes, well, that was neither here nor there at the moment. Loki inhaled again, as the second-- and, he hoped, last-- swarm of Doombots flew toward him. He was beginning to feel a certain telltale ache in his head and pressure behind his eyes that suggested his strength and his sorcery were nearly at their limits. The awareness caused a spike of anger and anxiety that sent magical flames bubbling up into his thorax. They did not feel quite as powerful as the first time, but he was quite sure they would serve the purpose. 

Rhodey fired two quick blasts from his repulsors, apparently in signal, and the angel banked hard, gesturing Thor to follow as he did so. Rhodey in his War Machine suit rocketed straight up into the sky. As the bots hummed toward him Loki once again breathed out a long flaming blast and watched with satisfaction as the main Doombot force crisped up and tumbled from the sky. 

The breath of fire ended on a sparking hiccup, hardly enough to menace a princess clad in a paper bag, and Loki knew his usefulness was at an end. He looked around for War Machine, saw him fully occupied with the last dozen or so Doombots, and realized there was no need to notify anyone he was breaking off: surely they would notice the dragon's absence from the combat. 

As Loki dropped into a shallow descending glide, he was dimly aware that, above and behind him, the sky had lit up in a familiar way. 

_Reinforcements had arrived._

~oOo~

Tony and Thor made a final strafing run on Doom's first lair, and were getting ready to move on to the old castle, when JARVIS spoke up. 

"Sir, I have reports from Lt-Col Rhodes of Doombot activity in the desert outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico."

"What?-- Hang on, JARVIS, Thor needs to hear this too." He switched to the communicator channel Thor was connected to. "Thor?"

"Aye?" 

"Go ahead, JARVIS," Tony said. JARVIS obliged, with a concise summary of the situation unfolding in New Mexico. Tony expected to have to jump in and calm Thor down-- and was grateful the sound dampeners that kept explosions from deafening him also generally worked on Thor.

Thor, however, spoke in a coldly reasonable tone:

"Thank you, JARVIS. Tony, follow me."

 _Where?_ Tony did not ask. Thor landed on a rocky hilltop, bare of trees, and waited for Tony to land beside him. 

Then he looked up at the sky and commanded, "Heimdall, _open the Bifrost."_

This was hardly the first time Tony had heard Thor make that request, but there was something very different about the tone. In his-- Thor's-- own estimation, he had apparently been quite a brat before his banishment to Earth and the subsequent personal catastrophes that had shaken his family to its core. There was little sign of any bratty tendencies now-- and Tony, who didn't mind divas as long as the diva was him, would be the first to point them out if he saw any. 

Up until this second, however, Tony hadn't realized just how firmly Thor reined himself in these days. His previous calls to open the Bifrost had sounded like polite requests. This one sounded like the crown prince of Asgard giving an order, and Tony suddenly didn't want to know what would happen if he wasn't obeyed, and smartly. 

He didn't find out: the sky above him boiled with light and he felt himself being sucked upward. A second later he touched down in Asgard, grateful the suit was heavy enough to keep him from stumbling. The stone-faced Heimdall, who apparently could see everything, didn't need to be told where Thor wanted to go before he reactivated the Bifrost. Thor actually flew into the whirlpool of light and Tony followed.

They came blasting out the other end over the New Mexico desert, Thor crashing hammer-first into a Doombot that exploded in a shower of sparks and fragments of metal. Tony swerved hard around Rhodey and shot down another bot before pulling up to take stock. There were probably a dozen or so Doombots left, flying toward Puente Antiguo. The desert floor below them was littered with charred debris. 

There was no sign of Loki. 

Rhodey, Falcon, Thor and Thor were giving chase to the last of the Doombots, and Tony joined in. Wherever Loki had gotten to, surely he'd be okay while they mopped this up. 

~oOo~

Loki was an experienced and-- perhaps surprisingly, considering his personality-- cautious shapeshifter. He always left his clothes in a safe place and returned to them in plenty of time when it was time to shift back into his own form. And he was very careful not to overexert himself and lose control of his transformations. That last had not happened to him since he was a child, when his excitement at managing a full, deliberate shift into the form of a kitten had got the better of him. He had spent far too long scuttling around the nursery, pouncing on his toys, and had involuntarily changed back when he had barely the strength to stumble to his bed and pull the covers over himself. 

Still, as he descended toward the desert floor Loki recognized the signs of his magic about to run out. He could feel something guttering out inside him, and his extremities becoming cold and numb. He started to fold his wings to descend faster--

\-- and abruptly found himself back in his own small pink form, dropping from the sky to land with a bone-rattling thump on the desert sand. Scratched and winded, Loki dragged himself into a prickly clump of brush, closed his eyes as the wriggling landscape threatened to bring on nausea, and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. The sounds of aerial combat above him moved on, and he tried not to blame himself for being unable to offer further help. He had done what he could, he consoled himself. 

His current circumstances being hardly ideal, he tried to decide what to do next. First, of course, he would hide here until his strength and his magic had a chance to recover a little. As weak and empty as he currently felt, he knew quite well the effects would not last long: assuming no outside interference _(collars and runes)_ his powers always recovered quickly, even here on Midgard, at least to a level that permitted him to use them. Say half an hour, in which time he would attempt to avoid sunburn and prickly things in intimate places. After that he would--

\--Well, he would do something. The most obvious thing to do, of course, was to climb through Yggdrasil and go home to Bristol for a change of clothes. His current lack of house keys was not a problem, since he could emerge _inside_ the house if he really needed to. Loki permitted himself to think for a longing moment of a bath in his own bathtub, followed by clean clothes-- surely he still had _some_ clothing left in the house, despite the travel needs of _two_ Lokis-- and then perhaps a nap on his own bed under his light flowered quilt. 

_(There was something he should remember about that light quilt. Something upsetting.)_

And then he would have to find the helicarrier. And of course Thor and his friends would be worried about him, and the Avengers would be wondering where their magical consultant had got to, and so would be wasting time and energy looking for him instead of concentrating upon their mission--

No, he could not go home. A better idea, he decided, was to transport himself back to Jane's research base-- he thought he could find it, even without an exact knowledge of his current position. He would land at a safe distance and transform himself into... a Newfoundland dog. That was an easy form, and surely Newfoundlands were not so common in this dry place that Jane would not suspect his identity. Surely his clothing would still be more or less where he had left it, and Jane would permit him inside her facility to get dressed. 

And perhaps she would give him a drink of water. The desert air was incredibly dry, and Loki could almost feel the moisture evaporating from his body. The feeling of thirst was uncomfortable, but also brought on unease, which was alarming because he did not know what was causing it. Something about being thirsty was upsetting to him, apart from the physical discomfort of the sensation. 

He banished the thought for another time-- a time which, he hoped, would never come. He would rest a little and then rouse whatever he could of his magic, and get himself out of this predicament. 

The sound of a vehicle was not, at first, a welcome one. Loki, eyes still closed, kept still and tried to make himself as small as possible, having no wish to encounter strangers in his current state, or to be asked to explain what he was doing out here naked in the desert. _Keep going,_ he urged the newcomer in his mind.

No such luck. The engine stopped and Loki heard the sound of a door opening. It occurred to him that perhaps Jane's research truck, or Pepper's vehicle, had survived their collisions with Thor in a drivable state and they had come looking for him. _Please not that,_ Loki silently begged the Norns, or whatever spirits inhabited the desert. He was no stranger to social awkwardness, but not _that._

This time his luck held.

"Hey there." The voice was male, unknown to him, and with a slight tremor of age. "Are you all right?" 

Loki opened his eyes and raised himself on his elbows. A short distance away was an elderly man, standing in front of a vehicle Loki associated with the United States-- a _pickup,_ he thought he had heard it called. These vehicles might also exist in England but he did not think he had ever seen one there. The man was silver-haired and mustached with a spare, wiry frame, and was peering at Loki through dark spectacles.

"I am all right," Loki called back, matching vernacular and trying to make his voice sound confident. 

"Good to hear. You were the dragon, weren'tcha?" The old man seemed far more comfortable with the idea than Loki thought normal, but then again there was no telling how many strange things this mortal had seen in the span of his life, especially living here in this Land of Enchantment. 

"I was," Loki admitted, since the man's words had not sounded accusing. The old man nodded, then walked back to the pickup and rummaged behind the seat. He emerged holding a red and black plaid blanket. 

"Saw you fall," the old man explained. "Thought we'd see if you needed a little help." 

"Thank you," Loki replied politely, caught the blanket when the old man tossed it to him, and wrapped it awkwardly around himself. The old man introduced himself as Stan and gestured for Loki to follow him back to the pickup. 

He was glad of the blanket when he realized how many sets of eyes were staring at him from the vehicle: four adolescents in the open cargo area in back, and inside the passenger compartment a woman and two small children whose ages Loki estimated at about five and seven years. 

"Hello," Loki greeted them, clutching the blanket. 

"Hello," the woman replied, looking almost as embarrassed as Loki felt. 

"Are you Harry Potter?" asked the smaller of the two children, the girl. 

"Sadly, no," Loki replied. 

"Harry Potter wears _glasses,"_ the elder, male, child pointed out. 

"He could be wearing _contact lenses,_ like Daddy," the girl insisted, and then addressed Loki once again: "How come you don't have any clothes on?"

"I had to leave them behind when I became a dragon," Loki explained. 

Both children frowned at this. "Professor McGonagall has her clothes on when she turns back from a cat," the boy said. 

"Yes, but Professor McGonagall is an Animagus," Loki reminded him. "I am merely an ordinary shapeshifter."

"Oh," the children chorused, as though this made perfect sense. 

"Sounds like your friends are finished with those robots," Stan announced, indicating the now-peaceful sky. "I'm taking these folks to their homes, and then I'm going back to town, see if I can do anything to help. You want to come with me? Your friends will probably check in there, or you can call someone."

"Thank you," Loki replied humbly, guiltily reflecting that this was one of the humans he had terrorized, that time with the Destroyer. "I would appreciate that very much."

"Scootch over," Stan advised the children, who duly scootched, and Loki got in the front with them. It would have made more sense to put him in the back with the adolescents, but the bench seat was more comfortable than the cargo bed and besides it was easier to maintain control of the blanket in here. Loki exchanged awkward smiles with the children's mother as he closed the door upon himself. 

"How did you turn into a dragon?" the boy asked, as Stan started the engine of the pickup.

"I thought very hard about how much I wished to be a dragon," Loki explained.

"Could I do that?" the girl demanded. 

"It takes a great deal of practice," Loki replied. "And you do need to have a certain magical ability to begin with."

"So it really is like Harry Potter," the boy said in disappointment. 

"I fear so," Loki agreed.

"You talk funny," the girl announced. 

"Tabitha!" her mother admonished, and the child looked abashed. 

"Well," Loki said calmly, "I am not from around here, you see."

"And here you are," Stan said, pulling up in front of a small house. Loki scrambled out of the pickup to let the family out, then climbed back in. After further stops to return the older children to their homes and worried families, Stan turned the pickup back toward the town. Loki leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

After a moment, though, the voice of the old man broke the quiet. 

"You're Thor's brother," Stan said. It was not a question. 

"I am," Loki replied, opening his eyes.

"Good fella, Thor," Stan said. 

"He is," Loki agreed, staring straight ahead. "I... did not always appreciate him as I should." He was silent a moment before blurting, "I am very sorry indeed for, for my actions toward your town, that time when I... I realize words are inadequate, but--" 

"That what the dragon was about?" Stan asked. Loki squirmed, fidgeting with the blanket, which was rough wool and smelled of dust, petrol and-- faintly but comfortingly-- of horse. 

"...perhaps," he finally mumbled. _Of course_ that was "what the dragon was about," but Loki had not the courage to say as much and risk being told it was not enough. And he still found it very difficult to ask for forgiveness from those he knew well, let alone strangers he had harmed for no better reason than that he had been angry.

"Well, thanks," Stan said, and glanced from the road to smile at Loki. "I'm sure everyone appreciated the help." 

"Least I could do," Loki muttered, hugging the blanket more tightly around himself as the pickup bore him back toward Puente Antiguo, and whatever the town now thought of him.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _I'm so sorry this chapter took so long-- I have nothing against real life but it does sometimes interfere with my fic writing. This should be the last H!Loki-only chapter before we get back to everyone else._
> 
> _Regarding Loki's history in Puente Antiguo-- I can't remember whether I posted about this in notes to fic chapters or in separate posts on my fic LiveJournal, so I want to clarify how that episode happened in this particular universe. A while back, someone who used to follow my fic on LJ commented on the death and destruction this Loki had wrought in Puente Antiguo. I didn't argue with her, but I actually should have made a couple of things clear about this universe. _
> 
> _See, in the theatrical release, we actually didn't see the Destroyer kill any humans. All we actually saw was property damage by the Destroyer, then the battle with Thor's friends, and then the confrontation between Thor and Loki-via-Destroyer. In the final, theatrical, version of the story, the only person we see get hurt is Thor._
> 
> _I realize that it's totally reasonable to assume there were people killed and we just didn't see it. However, in the Housemates universe, that's not what happened. In my mind, and so in this universe, Loki escalated throughout his final rampage, culminating in the attempt to destroy Jotunheim._
> 
> _To me, that means the worst thing he did on Midgard was temporarily kill Thor. To my mind, killing a whole lot of innocent civilians would be worse, and therefore, in this universe, he didn't. I'm not going to argue with anyone who has different ideas about that section of the movie, but within Housemates universe my interpretation is what happened. So, while the citizens of the town would have been quite rightfully shaken and very angry when word got out Thor's brother was responsible for all that damage, expense, and terror, the fact nobody was killed or seriously injured means they're not as implacably angry as, say, many of the Jotnar._
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _None needed._

As they drove back toward Puente Antiguo, Loki and Stan passed the wreckage of many Doombots, apparently destroyed singly by the airborne Avengers. Stan rolled down the window on the driver's side of the pickup and leaned out to scan the sky. This really did not impress Loki as a safe way to operate a motor vehicle, but he said nothing. In the first place, the road was perfectly straight and they appeared to be the only vehicle on it. In the second, it seemed less than grateful to criticize the human who had rescued him and provided him with this blanket. 

And in the third place, of course, having just transformed himself into a dragon for the purpose of battling flying robots, Loki felt his own claim to prudence was hardly unassailable. 

"Yep, I think that's all of 'em," the old man remarked, drawing his head back in and making a correction to the pickup's course. "All right, let's see what's going on in town." 

Not too surprisingly, the centre of town was still and very quiet. Rather more surprisingly, it was also devoid of the sort of wreckage Loki associated with the _collateral damage_ caused by superhero battles. This, and the remains of destroyed Doombots on the route into the town, suggested the defenders had been successful in their efforts to knock down the bots before they reached their target. 

The only signs of activity Loki could see were three white cars sitting in the main intersection, blue and red bar lights flashing on top. Despite superficial differences from the police cars he was used to at home, it was obvious what these were. Three armed police officers stood near the cars, holding what looked like an informal debriefing on the incident.

Loki's heart gave a hard bump when he realized who the officers were speaking to: standing in the midst of the group was the red-and-golden form of Iron Man, facemask open to reveal the face of Tony Stark. With a flash of panic, Loki realized he was still unable to immediately tell whether this was the Tony Stark who was his friend. 

And then the panic gave way to relief as two more figures stepped forward: the angel-winged agent Loki did not know, and the blessedly familiar one of War Machine, Lt-Col Rhodes' serious face looking out of the suit's open mask. No extra Rhodey had come over from the other reality, therefore this was the Rhodey he knew and could trust. The angel was in Rhodey's company, therefore it followed he was no threat to Loki, either. 

Stan stopped his pickup at a respectful distance from the police cars, turned off the engine, and opened his door. Clutching the blanket around himself, Loki reluctantly followed suit, stepping onto the concrete of the pavement, which was cooler on his bare feet than the black tarmac of the street itself. 

"Hey, Chief," Stan called, in the breezy tone of one who expects his every appearance to be not only welcomed, but eagerly anticipated. So might Thor be, four thousand years hence.

In response to his call the officer who had been quizzing Iron Man looked around with a concerned frown. "Stan, what are you doing here?"

Stan inclined his head toward Loki. "Thought you might need to talk to the dragon."

"Do what?" the chief said, her expression confused as she and her colleagues turned to Loki, who instinctively tightened his grip on the blanket. He smiled tensely and sketched a slight bow in their direction. 

Tony Stark, with a sudden penetrating glance at Loki's anxious face, said loudly, 

"A dragon's nothing. You should have seen what he did to celebrate Kwanzaa this year-- turned himself into Anansi, the spider-god with the head of a man. Scared us all half to death."

_Tony._ The three police officers looked more confused than ever, but Loki found himself suddenly able to breathe. His next smile in the direction of the superheroes was almost genuine. Tony winked, Rhodey smiled back, and the angel repeated, "Anansi?" with a curious glance at the other two. 

"Is that right?" asked the chief of police, addressing Loki. He was unsure whether the question was rhetorical, but before he had to decide how to respond the chief gestured toward her car. "Mind having a seat while we talk this over?"

She opened the rear door and Loki could see the back of the car was fitted out as a sort of cage. His heart gave a thump and he almost protested, but given his history in this town he felt that would be inappropriate. The best compromise he could find was to sit on the back seat and then, before the police officers could shut him inside, awkwardly turn so that he was sideways, facing out the door with his feet resting on the lower doorframe and a careful fold of blanket caught between his knees. Seated like this he must remember to lean forward so as not to strike his head on the top of the door frame, but he would be able to defend himself if anyone attempted to close the door upon him. 

The chief of police seemed unconcerned with Loki's small rebellion. It occurred to him that she-- of average height for a human woman-- simply preferred to look down upon him as she asked her questions, rather than up. His actual seated position was of less importance to her than the fact he was indeed sitting, and therefore below her eye level. 

It was a perfectly natural gesture of authority. It also, as it happened, suited Loki's own purposes: he rather badly wished to present himself as harmless, and sitting at a level below the police officer's eye-line-- particularly clad as he was in nothing but a blanket-- created exactly the impression he needed. 

_(It occurred to him there was an unpleasing irony in trying so hard to manipulate these humans into believing he was innocent when he really was innocent, but the thought gave him an anxious feeling for reasons he did not quite understand, and so he banished it from his mind.)_

The police chief studied Loki as though contemplating how best to begin her interrogation. Loki had been on the receiving end of a great many disapproving looks in his life, and at one point had considered himself rather an expert in them. He had of late begun to suspect that on occasion he might have perceived disapproval where none was intended, and three or four years ago this might have been one of those occasions. The three police officers did indeed look very serious, but under the circumstances that much was understandable. 

It would be even more understandable after he told them who he was, but for the moment Loki tried not to read anything dire into their expressions. There would be plenty of time for that in a moment. 

The chief of police folded her arms, body language familiar to Loki from television programs about police agencies and their work. Her tone when she spoke was not friendly, but neither was it hostile:

"I'm Chief Benally. These are Officer Begaye-- " with a nod toward the taller of her subordinates-- "and Officer Lujan." She paused, a clear signal for him to identify himself. With a feeling rather like one about to rip the plaster off a wound, Loki obeyed. 

"I am Loki Odinson." He was forced to admit to a tiny, craven hope his name would mean nothing to Chief Benally and her officers. The hope sputtered out as the stern expressions intensified. All Chief Benally said, however, was:

"Thor's brother?"

"Yes," Loki replied, keeping his voice small and meek. How many centuries had that question rankled, implying as (to him) it did that the connection represented his only value to the speaker. How proud he had been, to be known as the son of Odin, but at the same time how resentful to be brother of Thor.

He was, as the humans would say, _over it_ now-- was properly proud of both relationships. But Darcy's behaviour toward him, when first they met, indicated that Puente Antiguo knew it was the brother of Thor who had wrought destruction on their town. Of course, Thor had addressed him as "brother" when he faced the Destroyer, when Loki had--

_Stop that._

The point was, Thor had stood in the middle of the street, speaking to his brother by name. Jane and her friends had witnessed the whole scene, the apology (which in Loki's fevered state had felt not like an apology but one more attempt at _control_ , just like the king and queen-- _Calm down, Loki; be quiet, Loki; do what we want of you, Loki; be a good pet monster, Loki--)_

_Stop_.

Jane and her friends, and probably many other townspeople Loki had paid no attention at the time, had seen and heard the whole thing. They would have talked about it afterward, until the whole town knew who had launched this craven assault upon their peaceful community. Even if Jane now said kind things about him-- which was likely, assuming she spoke of him at all-- her words would hardly change the opinions of those he had terrorized. Loki made himself as small as possible as he waited for the chief to continue. 

By this time, of course, he had some familiarity with Midgardian police. It therefore should not have surprised him when Chief Benally simply nodded in acknowledgement and asked, 

"And that dragon we saw was you?"

"Yes," Loki admitted. 

"And turning into a dragon struck you as a good idea-- why, exactly?" 

In Loki's opinion the question answered itself, but he had better sense than to say so. In his most respectful tones he enumerated his reasons:

"The threat to the town was airborne, so flight was necessary in order to fight them. The form I took needed to be large enough to create a significant obstacle in the Doombots' path toward the town. And, time being of the essence, it needed to have weapons capable of destroying a large number of the bots in a single sweep." He shrugged within the blanket. "The most obvious creature I would think to become was a dragon."

"What exactly do you mean, 'time was of the essence'? You're referring to the speed they were traveling at?" 

"Yes. Also, it takes a considerable amount of magical energy to maintain a shift into a different form," Loki explained. "The greater the difference between the assumed form and my own, the more energy is needed. I knew I would not be able to maintain a form so large for more than a few minutes before my powers were drained."

"So you're pretty much powerless right now?" Chief Benally's voice was expressionless, but Loki found himself wishing she had not been so quick to grasp that particular point. Resisting the urge to cast an appealing glance at Tony and Rhodey, Loki schooled his face into a look of calm.

"For the moment, yes. My powers recover very quickly," he added, hoping he sounded less defensive than he felt. 

"But if there had been another wave of Doombots you would have been in a lot of trouble," said the chief. 

"Yes," Loki conceded, a little surprised at her choice of focus. 

"And if you'd changed back while you were in the air, you could have gotten hurt," Benally went on, voice and expression still neutral. 

"Indeed," Loki replied, choosing not to enlighten her. 

"Pretty risky," Benally noted. Loki shrugged within the blanket. 

"It was necessary." And then he addressed the obvious point, the one around which Loki felt they were both dancing: "I did a great deal of damage here a number of years ago, so I wished to... I wanted to..." 

"Hmm," said Chief Benally, when Loki trailed uneasily off. "Well-- "

Before she could say anything else, Thor landed in the middle of the intersection-- followed immediately after by Thor. The arrivals were about as subtle as... as a dragon in the front garden, but Chief Benally merely blinked, while her two subordinates looked mildly interested at the sight. Their reactions were so reminiscent of Agent Coulson that Loki momentarily wondered whether their friend might originally hail from this Land of Enchantment, himself.

Both Thors made for the knot of people and police cars, both looking fierce-- although demonstrably not for the same reason. Tony, quick despite his heavy suit, stepped hastily forward to intercept the other Thor, the wrong one. Rhodey cast a sharp look at Tony and then moved to support him, at which the angel also joined in. 

Loki's real brother took in the situation as he strode forward, and his expression changed to an approximation of the open, friendly one that had always opened every door for him in Asgard and beyond. Loki had rather forgotten that he, Loki, was not in fact the only member of his family who could manipulate people and situations to his own advantage. 

He had small leisure to reflect on the idea, because just at that a black vehicle with a badly damaged front grille came flying down the road as though it was on the track at Silverstone, screeching to a halt next to Stan's pickup. The driver's side front and back doors opened, and the one on the front passenger side, and out spilled Pepper, Jane, and Darcy. 

"You can't arrest him!" Jane shouted as she ran up. "He was only trying to help!" 

"He was," Darcy echoed. "Totally a good-guy dragon. Badass, but good guy."

Pepper, who somehow maintained the impression of walking with poise and calm even though she, too, was running, added, 

"It's true. He's the magical consultant for the Avengers, he actually came here on purpose to help, and-- "

Chief Benally raised a hand, and everyone fell silent. "No one is being arrested," she said evenly. 

_Yet,_ Loki mentally amended, but the chief went on, still calmly,

"I wanted to find out what happened here, so I had a few questions for your friend."

"He's in no condition to answer questions!" Darcy protested. Watching her, Loki was confident she was defending him not primarily for his sake, but out of the pure love of a good dramatic situation. 

Which, of course, meant she fit in perfectly among iron-clad superheroes, the almost-God(s) of Thunder, a being got up like a heavily-armed angel, and a sorcerer who had just turned back from a dragon. Disposed to enjoy the show, Loki concealed a smile behind a corner of the blanket just as Darcy pointed (dramatically) at him and declaimed,

"He's in _shock._ Look, he's got a _blanket."_

Loki was fortunately able to stifle his startled giggle in time. Darcy, glancing over to see whether he had got the reference, looked pleased with his reaction. Both of them sobered as the police chief fixed them with a stern look. 

Which was when Thor spoke up:

"I very much regret the circumstances. You see, we-- the Avengers-- are engaged in an investigation, and I fear this attack was an act of retaliation by the subject of that investigation. My brother used his powers to come to your defense, and Iron Man and I followed." He offered no explanation for the extra Thor, and the chief apparently decided she did not need to know. Thor went on, "My comrades and I can offer all the explanations necessary. I wonder if you would permit my brother to withdraw somewhere private so that he might dress?"

_Bless him._

"We have your clothes in the car," Jane added quickly. _Bless her._

"I'll get them," Darcy announced, and hurried off to do so. 

Chief Benally glanced at Loki, then indicated a low building on the opposite corner of the street. "Police station is over there. Sergio, escort him." Officer Lujan nodded. Benally turned back to Loki. "We would have been in an awful lot of trouble without you. I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for the whole town when I say we're grateful for the help."

"It was owed," Loki mumbled.

"It was," Chief Benally agreed. "And I can't speak for the town this time, but you can probably call that paid for."

Loki swallowed hard. Then he rose to his feet, with as much dignity as could be mustered by an unsteady being clad in nothing but a dusty blanket, and bowed. 

"Thank you," he said quietly. Benally and her subordinates nodded back. 

Darcy came back just then, clutching a rumpled bundle of clothing, and Officer Lujan gestured Loki to follow him. Darcy showed no inclination to hand over the clothing, nor Lujan to take them. Under the circumstances Loki really did prefer to keep both hands on the blanket, so all three went into the police station together. 

Officer Lujan, now the official questioning was over, became positively affable as he escorted Loki to the small, bright lavatory at the back of the building and asked whether there was anything else Loki needed. Loki briefly considered asking for a cup of tea, but decided such a request would be presuming too much upon the new friendliness between them, even if the police officers had tea and a kettle. He politely declared he was fine, took his clothing from Darcy, and locked himself in the little room. 

Officer Lujan might have stayed near the door or withdrawn entirely-- he did not speak, so it was impossible to tell. Darcy, however, remained outside the door, where she talked almost without pausing to draw breath. 

"So do you do that all the time? Change into dragons and things?"

"Dragons? Almost never," Loki called back. He wrapped the blanket around his waist as though it were a bath towel, and used foamy soap from the dispenser to wash his dusty face and hands. The result was muddy streaks on his neck and forearms, but before dealing with them he cupped his clean hands under the stream of cool water and drank until he no longer felt as though he had swallowed half the desert. He was aware of Darcy continuing to speak outside the door, so when his thirst was satisfied he called to her, "I beg your pardon, I could not hear you."

"I said, so if you fell into a big lake or something you could just turn into a fish, right?"

"Right," Loki agreed, because it was simpler than trying to explain what he actually had done the last time that had happened to him, and besides he was not sure whether Agent Coulson would appreciate his telling the story. 

"Or a bird? Not if you fell into a lake, although I guess you could turn into a duck, I hear you're good at ducks-- "

"Sorry?" Loki called back, momentarily confused. 

"I saw the episode of _Ellen,_ " Darcy replied, and Loki belatedly recalled the incident at the television studio. It seemed like a very long time ago. Darcy went on, "If I could change shapes I'd probably be a bird all the time." 

"I also enjoy being a bird," Loki understated, "but it can be complicated when one has cats." As he spoke, Loki used soap and paper towels to clean the mud from his neck and forearms. The rest of him would have to wait, but he managed at least not to make the mess any worse. 

"That could be a problem," Darcy agreed. "So can you turn into _anything?_ Like, a... a minotaur?"

"Of course not," Loki replied, as he began hastily to dress. "There is no such thing as a minotaur. Thank you for bringing my clothing. You really do not need to remain with me, if you would prefer to rejoin Jane."

"Oh, she's fine without me for a minute," Darcy replied breezily. "Hey, are you sure you don't need anything? If you don't mind me saying so you looked a little wobbly out there. Sure you don't want a jolt of sugar or something? There's a vending machine, I could get you a Pepsi if it'd help."

"Actually, I would very much appreciate that," Loki admitted. He felt much better for his drink of water but was still light-headed enough it seemed wise not to bend over to tie his shoes, and he knew from experience that, in the absence of tea, any beverage containing caffeine and sugar would be helpful. 

"Be right back," Darcy called, from somewhere down the hall. Loki closed the lid of the toilet and sat on it to deal with his shoes. 

He was drinking the frosty cola as he followed Darcy back outside to rejoin the others. Chief Benally and Officer Begaye were just closing out their conversation with the Avengers. Thor and Tony looked over as Loki emerged from the police station.

"Ready to go?" Tony called. 

"Just a moment," Loki replied, looking around for Stan. He jogged over to the pickup, extending the folded blanket to the old man. "Thank you. I very much appreciated the help."

"No trouble. We all need a hand sometimes," Stan said mildly. 

"Some of us more often than others," Loki replied with a sheepish smile, and turned back toward his friends.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _Back to the rest of the gang! Those of you who watch **Being Human** will be aware that I'm both simplifying Ivan and Daisy's relationship, and skating over some of Daisy's appetites. I plead "this story is complicated enough already." Those two are a terrific couple, and by "terrific" I mean "devoted, complicated, murderous, and very scary." I've always been sorry we didn't get to see more of them in canon. _
> 
>  
> 
> _Obviously this story takes place in a universe in which **Thor: The Dark World** hasn't happened, but there was one moment I really liked from that movie, so I've stolen it for inclusion in this universe. You'll know it when you see it._
> 
>  
> 
> _I know my posting cycle has slowed down considerably on this story. Part of the reason is that I no longer live in a rented apartment, and it turns out you really do take more interest in housework when it's your own place. Who knew? And because it's the first summer in the new place there are a number of things I've needed to get done or organized. I'm still writing, just going a little slower these days._

One thing-- the main thing-- that had always made Mitchell seem very different from every other vampire George had encountered was his capacity for friendship. Ordinarily, it seemed, that was one of the first things lost in the transition from human to vampire, which naturally made sense when you considered who they preyed upon. They didn't even seem to be all that fond of one another, most of the time, which also made sense for solitary predators. George himself thought that sounded terribly lonely and depressing, but then again as a werewolf he supposed there was something in him that wanted the cooperation and security of some kind of pack structure. 

Mind you, even so-called solitary predators weren't necessarily solitary all the time. George and Loki had recently been fascinated by a television documentary about great white sharks and the scientists who tagged and studied them in a hunting ground off the coast of California. One of the most interesting pieces of information they'd learned was that, in some cases, particular sharks routinely traveled and hunted together. The scientists had explained that it would be anthropomorphic to call the animals "friends," and instead referred to them as "preferred associates." 

(Loki hadn't liked that at all. George recalled him protesting that surely many species were capable of ties of affection and friendship. It didn't take a genius to realize Loki was thinking about his own ambiguous-or-possibly-dual species, so George had merely pointed out that the scientists didn't know very much about the emotional lives of sharks, and the sharks weren't telling. Loki had ended the conversation with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, defiantly mumbling that _cats_ had friends. George, looking at Elizabeth and Philip rolled up in a chair together like a pair of socks, hadn't argued.)

Bringing his wandering mind back to the point, George reflected that "preferred associates" was a pretty good term for most of the relationships he'd personally seen among vampires. Certain vampires did spend time in each other's company, but George had always gotten the impression they were mostly hunting companions. He'd never seen much sign of them _caring_ for each other. 

He'd asked Mitchell about it once and had gotten an ambiguous response that made him think vampires like Mitchell were uncommon mostly because they tended to get killed off for their weakness. Which would probably have happened to Mitchell as well, if he hadn't thrown in with Herrick in the beginning. 

Which was definitely not something Mitchell would thank him for mentioning. 

The point to all of this, however, was that George was starting to think Ivan and Daisy were strangely, uncomfortably, like Mitchell, at least in that one way: their attachment to each other was much more than hunting companions and clearly not just sex. It was reminiscent of the way Mitchell cared about his own friends, and for some reason that felt unsettling to George. He supposed he compartmentalized vampires in his mind-- there was Mitchell, and then there were all those other arseholes-- and he wasn't happy about having to rearrange his categories, especially about one of these Old Ones. 

He suspected he was uncomfortable at least partly because he knew there was a very good chance that if it came to a fight, his side was going to have to kill a lot of vampires. And knowing Mitchell wasn't unique among them-- knowing there were other vampires, probably also on the other side, who were capable of affection and... recognizable feelings-- suddenly changed the complexion of the situation. It was easier when you could think of Mitchell as unique, and all other vampires as soulless monsters. 

Which, George suddenly realized, was probably exactly what Loki had been thinking back when he turned the Bifrost on Jotunheim. 

"You're very quiet," Mitchell commented from the driving seat. George glanced at him and shrugged uncomfortably. 

"Just thinking," he said. Mitchell cast him a sideways glance and didn't ask what about. 

"This is madness," Daisy murmured from the back seat. 

"Probably," Mitchell agreed, and George went back to looking out the window. 

Deciding who would go back to the airport hotel and fetch Daisy and Geoff had reminded George of the riddle about the fox, the goose, and the bag of wheat being rowed across a river in a tiny boat: what configuration of those going and those staying would create the least danger of someone-- Clint-- getting eaten? 

In the end, the witches seemed the best guarantee of Kyle and Campbell's good behaviour. Ivan was less of a problem because Ivan, as an Old One, had better control over his bloodlust-- he chose to indulge it quite regularly, but he wasn't at the mercy of his condition in the same way younger vampires were. 

Younger vampires like Daisy, for instance, although using the word "mercy" in connection with Daisy seemed foolhardy. George had come along specifically to back up Mitchell, in the event Daisy got any bright ideas about overpowering him, stealing the car, and going on the lam with Ivan. Ivan appeared to have a pretty solid grasp of political reality, but George thought that would mean very little if it came up against his attachment to Daisy. 

Geoff was of course a non-factor in the decision, and he probably knew it. In spite of his own personal reasons to carry a grudge against Geoff, George found himself feeling a little sorry for the vampire. He certainly had plenty of experience with the feeling of hanging around on the fringes, knowing you were eventually going to be targeted by someone bigger or tougher than you were. In George's case things hadn't even changed when he became a werewolf, because plenty of vampires _(the arseholes)_ liked nothing better than to gang up on werewolves, and then make themselves scarce when the moon cycle was against them. He'd actually met Mitchell one night when a crowd of vampires attacked George and Mitchell ran them off.

Geoff had probably been a member of similar crowds, and George knew it-- probably in hopes that, if he was part of the crowd, he wouldn't become a target himself. It wasn't a choice George had ever made, but it was an understandable one. 

Which, when you came to think of it, made Geoff's defiance of Wyndham and Doom even more surprising. It was one thing to disagree with the plan. It was quite another to actually try to do something about it, especially after Ivan disappeared and the dissenters seemed leaderless. It took a lot of guts for someone like Geoff to actually go looking for Ivan, alone, not knowing what he was going to find or what he might be up against. 

George figured that was something he should keep in mind.

"And here we are," said Mitchell, inanely, as he pulled into a parking space across the street from Catherine Bennett's teashop. "Come on." Daisy needed no second invitation, and it was just as well her door opened onto the pavement instead of the street, because she was in no condition to check for traffic and might have bolted right into the path of a car. Not that she'd have been injured, but George reckoned that, in Daisy's state of mind, an encounter with a human just now was apt to lead to a lot of complications-- up to and including heinous murder in the middle of the street. 

Mitchell got out of the car in time to intercept Daisy, saying firmly,

"Daisy. Don't let the others see you're anxious. It'll only make things more dangerous."

"Do you think I care about _danger?"_ Daisy hissed, turning her head to fix Mitchell with a look that probably held her prey paralyzed in their tracks. 

Mitchell, not being prey, was unmoved. "I think you care about increasing the danger to Ivan, yes," he replied. "And you know what could happen if it looks like he's weak-- the others won't follow him and then you're right back where you started." Daisy cast him a look of thwarted rage-- or maybe just hatred-- but she must have seen the sense in his words because she visibly took hold of herself. Mitchell nodded and led the way across the street to the teashop. 

When they entered the shop they spotted Ivan almost immediately, sitting at one of the larger tables in the corner with the two other vampires, Clint, and the witches. There was a teapot in the middle of the table and cups and plates sitting in front of each of them. Apparently instead of casting a spell on the vampires to ensure their good behaviour, Catherine had brought out the heavy artillery in the form of baked goods. 

Ivan, spotting his own personal cinnamon bun as she entered the shop, rose to his feet and extended a hand. Daisy immediately ran into his arms and kissed him in a way that made most of the others feel like they should look away-- which was probably why Clint didn't. Catherine, without comment, fetched a teacup for Daisy, but an extra chair turned out to be unnecessary. 

George had to hand it to Daisy: if she was scared by the situation she didn't let it show. In fact she was the very picture of Crazy Daisy: mad, bad, dangerous to know, and absolutely electric with sex. Next to her Ivan looked more languid than ever, but subtly more in control of the situation than he had a moment ago. It occurred to George that Daisy was both Ivan's consort and his first lieutenant, and the Old One probably only felt truly like himself when she was nearby. 

_Oh God, they're exactly like Tony and Pepper, only with more murdering._

Snapping himself back to the present, George forced himself to listen to Ivan's (deliberately?) aggravating drawl as he reviewed his take on the situation. 

"I've already said I can't stand up to Mr. Snow," Ivan said, the admission sounding like a statement of fact rather than a confession of weakness. Apparently something showed on George's face, because Ivan glanced at him and explained, "It's a question of relative power. A twelve-gun sloop couldn't take on the _Victory_ \-- " a disorienting little reminder that Ivan personally remembered the Napoleonic Wars-- "and I would just bounce off Mr. Snow. In fact, I don't think I could stand up to Wyndham directly, either." He turned his head slightly, acknowledged Clint, and went on, "So we're going to leave him in the hands of your archer."

"I'll work something out," Clint shrugged, and Daisy flashed him a particularly appreciative smile. Clint didn't seem to notice it, but if Natasha had been here she might have raised an eyebrow. 

Ivan probably saw the smile, but was apparently not bothered. He went on, "Our best chance of neutralizing the threat from the Old Ones is to keep them from coming here at all."

"Agreed," said Mitchell. "I hope you have an idea how to make that happen."

"Catch them in transit," Clint offered.

"Disrupt their support system," Ivan said, then turned to Clint quite courteously and said, "I know your agency is very good at what they do, but-- so are the Old Ones. And yours wouldn't be the first organization that's tried to hunt us down." Daisy uttered a small amused noise that suggested the probable fate of those hunters. 

George briefly, and possibly hysterically, wondered whether watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ with Daisy would be as funny as watching old _Dracula_ films with Mitchell. 

"Talk to us about disrupting their support system," Clint suggested, ignoring Daisy's wordless commentary. 

Ivan shrugged. "I may have said this before, but it's worth repeating: vampires-- we-- are opportunistic predators. If the risk is too high, we won't pursue an attack."

"Like sharks," George blurted. 

Ivan appeared unoffended-- and really, from his point of view it was probably a compliment. He looked amused as he said, 

"Wyndham has allies here, no question. And he's using them to organize a support network for the plan."

"Terrorizing himself a support network," Mitchell replied. 

"If you will," Ivan shrugged. "The point is, if that network is undermined, the odds will no longer favour an easy win by the vampires. And if that happens, especially if the target is alert for trouble, the Old Ones will simply sheer off and go home."

"They'll just _give up?"_ Clint fairly radiated skepticism. 

"They'll wait for a more opportune moment to try again," Ivan explained. Clint's expression made his disbelief clear. Ivan smiled, an amused and almost warm smile. "Mr. Snow is three thousand years old. He's learned to be patient. And he won't hesitate to leave Wyndham holding the baby." 

Clint sat back, blinking. George sympathized: you could hardly blame a human for not truly comprehending vampire lifespans. Ivan turned back to the rest of the group, particularly the vampires, and went on, 

"If I understand correctly, things more or less fell apart after I disappeared. Correct?"

"Yes," Geoff spoke up, although the question was more properly addressed to Kyle and Campbell. "We didn't have a leader anymore, so the community scattered." _Which was when Geoff,_ George noted, _went out looking for Ivan._

"And the ones who'd willingly followed Herrick, Gareth and them, started trying to round everyone else up and pressure us to go along with Wyndham's plans," Kyle added. 

"Who's Wyndham's contact here?" Mitchell asked. 

"I heard Seth is back," Kyle replied. Mitchell made a face. Seth wasn't the smartest vampire in the bunch, but he'd been devoted to Herrick and his grand plans, and he was as ruthless as only someone with no imagination could be. 

"Very well," Ivan said thoughtfully. "Well, Wyndham isn't here. _But I am._ So I should be able to... remind a lot of people that they don't really want to pick a fight with the Avengers. Or-- in the absence of Doom and Wyndham-- me." He looked around at the others. "I'll talk to our people. If necessary, I might do more than _talk._ And the lot of you can get the word out as well, that I'm back and as far as I'm concerned the position is unchanged. Right?" Ivan's voice and eyes had gone suddenly hard, and-- except for Daisy-- the other vampires all lowered their gazes, apparently involuntarily. Even Mitchell instinctively responded to Ivan's sudden assertion of dominance.

At this point Catherine and Agnes Scott exchanged a glance, and then Catherine leaned forward. 

"We can probably help you with this," she said. All the vampires looked at her, which most people would have found unsettling. Catherine, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered-- which might have had something to do with the fact she was more than four hundred years old. So far as George knew, witches got more powerful with age, same as vampires, and between the two of them Catherine and Agnes had at least a thousand years of power and experience. George supposed he would be unflustered as well, if that was the case.

"Help us? How?" Ivan asked, while Daisy's lip curled in apparent scorn at the idea of needing help from-- non-vampires? Witches? An apparently-middle-aged woman? Ivan, meanwhile, looked interested. 

"There are spells of protection we can employ," Catherine explained. "Not, perhaps, as powerful or long-lasting as the rhinoceros spell-- " Ivan looked distinctly amused at the reminder-- "but strong enough at least to protect you from others of your kind, and perhaps to defend you from Doom."

_"Perhaps?"_ Mitchell asked. 

Catherine made a palms-up gesture. "I've never attempted to take on Doom, so I can make no guarantees. But we can offer a degree of protection."

"It will involve laying a spell on some object-- like a wristwatch-- to turn it into an amulet," Agnes explained. 

Mitchell, possibly remembering the mobile phone app that had opened a portal, looked thoughtful. "Right, then. Let's not waste any time." 

~oOo~

"I'm sure we'll be all right," Jane protested, probably thinking more of the work she had to do than the risk of another attack. Thor, wearing a stubborn expression Loki knew very well and Jane probably should have recognized, insisted, 

"If Dr. Doom has chosen you as a target, you will not truly be safe until he is dealt with." And then his expression softened. "Please, Jane, say you will come with us. For me." Loki found himself wondering how he could have believed for so long that he was himself the only manipulative member of their family.

"Manipulation" was of course an unfair term. Tactically, Loki thought, his brother could not have handled the matter any better. Even Loki knew Jane well enough to suspect she would not respond well to efforts at coercion, but such a heartfelt plea--

Jane's resistance visibly wavered, and then collapsed. "Oh, all right," she muttered. 

"Great," said Darcy, who sensibly had no objection whatsoever to being protected from the supervillainous attentions of Dr. Doom. "Where are we going?"

"We shall all return to the helicarrier," Thor explained. "War Machine and the Falcon-- " he gestured toward the man Loki had been thinking of as the angel-- "have agreed to join us, and so we must make haste."

"Where is the helicarrier?" Jane asked, perking up somewhat at the prospect of getting to see the giant vessel close-up.

"We left it in Scotland," Thor replied. 

Jane's eyes widened. "And how are we going to-- ?" she began. Thor gave her one of his best smiles, the smile that had for centuries convinced his friends and his brother to join him in whatever scheme or adventure he had in mind, and swept her into his arms in a very good approximation of the cover of a romance novel. 

"Like this," he replied, and looked upward. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!" 

Evidently, Heimdall was waiting for just such a call-- which, since he must have delivered Thor and Tony to the battle in the first place, was not too surprising. 

Well. Not surprising _to Loki._ As they were enveloped in light, Darcy's startled shriek was cut off--

\-- and completed as they landed in Heimdall's Observatory. She was clinging to the arm of the angel-- the Falcon-- with one hand and to Loki with the other. The look on her face made Loki count himself lucky she managed to retain possession of her most recent meal. 

"What the _hell?"_ Darcy squeaked.

"I was about to say the same thing," agreed the angel, who also looked quite nauseated. 

"Can we do that again?" requested Jane, whose eyes were shining like a woman who had just relived all the best Christmases of her childhood at once.

"As you wish," Thor cheerfully replied, which was certainly deliberate, and turned to Heimdall. "We need to return to the rest of the Avengers."

Heimdall nodded. Darcy screamed in advance, and Jane uttered what was manifestly a shriek of glee as the Bifrost engaged once again. 

A moment later, they were standing on the deck of the helicarrier. 

"Thanks for the ride in your Great Glass Elevator, Thor, but let's not do that again any time soon," Darcy, by now clinging with both hands to the Falcon's left arm, said as they both stumbled away from the landing point. Pepper, still the picture of unruffled calm, stepped forward to take charge of her, Jane being quite clearly too excited to pay proper attention to her disoriented friend. 

In the meantime, Tony addressed Coulson, emerging onto the landing pad, with a cheerful, "Honey, we're home," and then asked, "Where's the Quinjet?"

"About forty minutes out," was the reply. "They got away without any trouble." Coulson smiled one of his cool greetings toward Jane, Pepper, and Darcy, then turned back to Tony. "I assume you brought them along to prevent a repeat performance by Doom?"

"Exactly," Tony agreed. "I thought we could stash them in the VIP quarters until it's safe." He jerked an armoured thumb at Loki. "And he should probably lie down for a while." 

"I do not need to lie down!" Loki protested, drawing himself up and trying very hard not to wobble.

"Oh really? I understand you put on quite a performance," Coulson said dryly, and Loki deflated.

"Well, at least he wasn't a duck," Tony said quickly. 

"No," Coulson agreed. "I'm sure he'll look much more impressive on the evening news this time."

"The news?" Loki asked weakly. 

"You do know that even people who live way the hell out in the desert have cell phones with cameras on them, right?" Coulson inquired. "That little escapade is all over the Internet even as we speak."

"Oh," Loki muttered. "What does... is Director Fury very angry?"

Coulson shrugged. "He'd probably have been a lot angrier if you hadn't done whatever was necessary to protect civilians. No smart remarks, any of you. And now that people know you can turn into a dragon they're going to expect it. Keep that in mind for the next time something big threatens New York or someplace. Now, off you go. There's a crew member ready to escort you. Loki, we'll send someone to call you in an hour or so, unless something drastic happens before that. I'm serious, get some rest. I'll make sure Annie knows where you are, and that somebody brings you your cats."

"Very well," Loki grumbled, as though it was a favour to Agent Coulson-- who was not deceived but kindly pretended to be. Coulson gestured to a crew member, and Loki and the women followed him to the guest quarters. 

~oOo~

Loki was not aware he was holding his breath until Annie took his hand. He told himself it was only the chill from the contact that pulled him back to reality.

"Helicarrier's up ahead," Natasha Romanov announced, in her calm flat voice, as if that was not the cause of Loki's shortness of breath in the first place. It suddenly made no difference that, the first time, being captured and taken to the helicarrier had been part of his ramshackle plan: finding himself once more restrained in the humans' aircraft, watching the huge airship draw closer, was still an intensely uncomfortable experience. 

_Frightening._ All right, it was a frightening experience, and he was frightened. He hated the reminder of being under compulsion, on one level aware he was deliberately courting disaster and yet completely powerless to stop himself, able only to serve his purpose. 

He hated the thought of the glass cell, where he could be studied like a specimen, mocked, dismissed. Yes, it was true he had only remained in that cell because it suited his own purposes... but now he was weak, and these Avengers had experience with magic. Suppose they had studied the magic of the other Loki, learned how to contain him...

Suppose, this time, he was confined in a cell from which he really could not escape? Was held there for the other Avengers, the other _Thor_ , to capture and take away, back to the cell and the chains?

Across the aircraft, Natasha Romanov spoke again:

"Annie and Loki, when we land I'll escort you directly to the rooms you'll be staying in. We sometimes transport important guests on the helicarrier, and you're going to stay in those quarters. I'll warn you both right now that you won't have complete freedom of movement on the helicarrier because neither of you is officially part of the crew, but you'll be able to move around on the deck you're assigned to. Okay?" She did not acknowledge the fact Annie, at least, would only be contained for as long as she chose to comply, and Annie did not bring it up. Loki, too, chose not to mention that when his powers recovered he, too, would be difficult to contain. If she had forgotten this detail he did not need to remind her. 

"Will the kittens be with us?" Annie asked, giving Loki's hand a little squeeze as she spoke. 

"Sure, I can get someone to bring them to you. I think they're in the crew quarters right now." Natasha focused her attention on Loki. "It might for some reason be necessary for you to interact with the other Avengers, but we'll warn you beforehand, and at the moment we have no plans for that to happen. You'll just stay in the guest area while we figure out what to do about Doom. Does that sound all right to you?"

In spite of himself, Loki was beginning to believe such questions were asked in earnest, and so he nodded. And then, in case he left the impression he was too frightened to speak, he cleared his throat and said plainly, 

"Yes, it is acceptable." 

"Good," Natasha said, and Steve Rogers smiled at him with real warmth. Loki glanced uneasily away and pretended to be fascinated by the lights of the helicarrier growing larger as they approached.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _Clearly, the updates for this story are falling farther and farther behind. My latest excuse is a series of family weddings (well, two in a week!), projects around the house, visitors from out of town, and my dad's eightieth birthday party, which have kept me mostly offline for most of the summer. Also, a couple of weeks ago my old netbook finally gave up the ghost and had to be replaced. I realize this chapter is meandering by even my standards, but after a gap this long I'd rather post what I've got done than wrestle with structure._
> 
> _Regarding Loki's age-- either Loki's age-- in this story, I keep saying he's somewhere between nine hundred and a thousand years old. I realize that isn't compatible with the date we're given for the Jotun invasion of Midgard in **Thor** , but I mis-remembered the date when I was writing the first story in this series and since then I've just gone with the original error. (I've decided that dated scene took place at the beginning of the war and then the fighting between the Aesir and Jotnar continued for much longer on Jotunheim.)_
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _Some implied gore right at the end._

Thor took it upon himself to escort Loki, Jane, and the others to the _VIP quarters,_ which gave him time to explain to Jane the whole business of the second Thor. She made satisfactory noises of indignation when Thor-- his own voice rumbling with barely suppressed outrage-- got to the part about the other Thor's suspicions of Loki. Even Darcy, who hardly knew Loki-- and that mostly at his worst-- chimed in angrily: 

"We couldn't believe our eyes when we got back to the research station, but we certainly knew it wasn't you _choking him."_

Thor, predictably, looked _thunderous._ "He did this?" Even as deep inside the helicarrier as they were, Loki was quite sure he could hear a warning rumble from far away outside.

And while Thor's concern was, of course, heartwarming, it was probably not conducive to successful cooperation with the other Thor and his Avengers to solve the larger problems of Dr. Doom and the vampires. Selfish as he was, even Loki had some sense of proportion. And besides, the main threat still appeared to be directed toward Britain. 

He had just opened his mouth to try and change the subject when Darcy, in tones of vicious satisfaction, went on, 

"Yeah, but Jane fixed him."

Thor raised an eyebrow and a red-faced Jane explained, "I, um, sort of ran him down with the research truck."

"You ran him-- ?" Thor began, and then clamped a hand over his mouth. 

"I was careful!" Jane, apparently misinterpreting his expression, exclaimed. "I made sure I hit him square but mostly missed Loki! Loki, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Oh, no," Loki replied, quite truthfully, and reached over to pat his brother on the back as Thor, face congested, began to make hiccupping noises behind his hand. "I am entirely unharmed."

"And then after Jane, Pepper hit him-- the other Thor-- with her SUV, too, just to make sure," Darcy continued-- Loki thought perhaps she had interpreted Thor's reaction more accurately than Jane-- at which Thor completely lost his composure and leaned against the wall behind him, howling with laughter. 

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," Pepper spoke up in calm agreement.

"Knocked him right on his ass," Darcy went on, relentlessly, while Thor wiped his eyes with a corner of his cape and then embraced Jane. 

"You are indeed all worthy warriors," he gulped. "Songs should be sung in your honour, of the fearsome Lady Jane and her-- "

"Truck of Terror," Darcy suggested, and once more Thor-- to quote Tony-- _lost it._

He was still-- in anyone else the word would be _giggling--_ when he left them in their temporary quarters, promising to send for the kittens and to come fetch Loki in an hour or two, after he had a chance to take a nap (he merely looked tolerant when Loki protested once again that he had no need of rest.)

After Thor had gone Darcy, still looking musingly at the door, remarked, 

"It's weird, when you think about it-- even when neither of them is strangling anybody you can totally tell the difference between this Thor and the other one. I'm not even sure why, but-- "

"It's his little virtues," Jane said abruptly. Everyone looked at her with varying degrees of confusion. Jane blushed, but went doggedly on, "I'm sure the other Thor is heroic and self-sacrificing and would step in front of the Destroyer-- sorry, Loki-- too, but even the little we saw of him, can you imagine the other Thor making fun of himself or watching silly TV shows with us?" Loki tried, but found himself shaking his head along with Pepper and Darcy. Jane shrugged expressively. "I mean, if I was being attacked by Doombots again I'd be glad to see either of them, and I'd be _really_ happy if it was both, but… I can't imagine _liking_ the other Thor as much. I feel like the other guy would be easy to admire, but ours is a lot easier to love." Quite scarlet by now, Jane forestalled comment from the others by turning to Loki. "You really should go lie down for a while. You know Thor will call you if anything happens that you should know about."

Which was, of course, true, and besides Loki actually did feel slightly light-headed even now. He took his leave of the women and retreated down the corridor.

~oOo~

Natasha Romanov must have communicated with the helicarrier in advance of their arrival, because when they landed there were no guards waiting to meet them. Such neglect should have been an insult to the two heroes, but for Loki's part it was a relief-- he was having difficulty enough in suppressing the memory of his arrival on the other helicarrier, without confronting SHIELD troops as well. 

The access door opened. Steve Rogers stepped onto the deck first, followed by Natasha. Annie waited for Loki, who was having a little difficulty with the device that fastened his restraints. _Seatbelt,_ Annie had called it, claiming it was meant to ensure his safety during the flight. The two humans had backed her story, had sat with their own belts fastened during the flight, exactly as if they did not have a murderous villain to contain. 

Although, of course, from their point of view they did not. Not given their history with the other Loki. Loki had been trying hard not to think about his... not his _double,_ he could not be, not with that untroubled face and air of _hope._ If anything could make Loki hate the boy, it would be that _hope--_ and the knowledge that, so far as he could tell, there was no one here who would take joy in snuffing it out. 

He probably _should_ hate him just for that. And yet... 

He pulled his mind away from the other Loki as he finally managed to undo the straps that held him in his seat. Annie smiled encouragingly at him-- which should have been offensive, but instead was only encouraging-- and they both stepped out of the aircraft. 

"This way," Natasha Romanov said, almost pleasantly. Annie took his hand as they followed the black-clad agent. This was a vast improvement over being surrounded by guards and with one's hands bound behind one's back-- again, that had fit in with his mission to attract and hold the Avengers' attention, but that had not made the experience any more enjoyable. Steve Rogers fell in beside them, but there was nothing in his posture to suggest he was Loki's jailer. Indeed, his expression remained one of friendly civility as he walked along with the others, exchanging quiet remarks with Annie. The captain's intent was transparent, but almost to Loki's rage he realized it was effective: the tension in his muscles and restriction in his breathing eased in the general atmosphere of comradeship. 

He could not help but think of the _general atmosphere of comradeship_ he had once enjoyed in Asgard-- there had been no relief of tension for him, at least, in that atmosphere. It occurred to him to wonder whether the other Loki had ever experienced that particular flavour of rejection. Learning he had not might give Loki a genuine reason to hate the other. 

Before he could give the idea any more thought, the little group was joined by the quiet-spoken man in the black suit. This was the same man whose presence had caused such particular unease a little while ago and, it now transpired, still did. Which, one had to admit, was rather peculiar when one considered the full range of his crimes on this realm-- or at least a version of this realm. 

If the quiet man knew anything of Loki's feelings, he gave no sign. He offered a small smile of greeting to Annie-- this, for some reason, this made Loki feel rather better-- and addressed Loki: 

"There's been a development. The other party arrived back a little while ago and they've been put in the guest quarters where you're going. I hope that isn't going to be a problem." This last was directed at Loki.

"Who's in 'the other party'?" Annie spoke up, quite reasonably. 

"Loki-- the other Loki-- had to use a lot of magic a little while ago," the quiet man-- Coulson, Loki now recalled his name-- explained. "So we've sent him off for a bit of a rest."

"Why did he have to use a lot of magic?" Annie asked, her eyes narrowing. 

Coulson looked almost amused. "There was a Doombot attack on Jane Foster's research station, and when Loki got there he turned himself into a dragon to help."

Annie's eyebrows went up. "Of course he did. Is he all right?"

Coulson smiled a little more genuinely at her. "He's fine, but he wasn't at full strength in the first place, and you know how these things are." He shook his head. "I understand it was quite a performance. I wish I had been there."

"Please don't encourage him," Annie entreated, in a tone of affectionate forbearance that really did make Loki almost decide he hated his not-quite-double after all. And then Annie's expression changed, became alarmed. "Wait, is _everyone else_ all right?"

"Yes," Coulson assured her. "The Doombots were stopped before they actually reached Puente Antiguo. Dr. Foster, Pepper Potts, and Dr. Foster's intern were all present when the attack occurred, and it seemed like the safest thing to do was bring them all here, in case Doom took another crack at them." He directed his attention toward Loki and explained, "Dr. Foster is a good friend of Thor's, which we assume is the reason Doom targeted her."

Loki nodded, which appeared to be expected of him. There was more to these mortals than he had ever been led to think, but like any other creature they fell into errors of thinking. These persistently addressed, and perhaps also thought of, him as though he was their friend. True, he had so far done little to remind them of the difference, and if he did they would surely lose no time in defending themselves. _Errors of thinking_ did not make them fools.

Still, it was… not unpleasant, to be treated as though he was… it was more than being treated as if he was not a threat. He, accordingly, played his part, nodding as if he had any idea who this "Dr. Foster" might be. 

Coulson turned to Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov. "You two should probably report back-- we've had word from Bristol and there's a briefing scheduled shortly."

"All right," Rogers agreed, but Natasha Romanov made an ambiguous gesture and said, 

"I'll check in as soon as Loki and Annie are settled." 

"Fine," Coulson agreed. 

"Thank you," Annie said brightly, as if the gesture was intended primarily for her. Indeed, she was by far the more appropriate recipient of such a… courtesy? Kindness? The intent certainly seemed to be kind. Surely, though, this Dr. Foster, and the others of whom Coulson had spoken-- surely they were Annie's friends, and so there was no need for Natasha to offer the escort for her sake? So she must be offering for him--

With a little thrill of something like horror, Loki realized he was falling into his old trap again, wanting to be included, to be considered part of things. _How could he be so foolish-- ?_

"Is that all right with you?" Natasha asked him directly, and Loki turned toward her, the painful hammering in his chest beginning to calm itself at her level expression. 

"It is acceptable," he said curtly. Rogers offered a general nod and excused himself. It occurred to Loki that, if he had been concerned for his own safety, he would have insisted on Steve Rogers remaining while the assassin left them. Instead, he found-- against all expectations or common sense-- that Natasha Romanov's presence was in some way reassuring. 

Which was in fact the role he had expected her-- or rather, the other Agent Romanov-- to take on the other helicarrier. He had anticipated torture, Fury striking him as the sort of commander who would so order if only to give the impression he was doing _something,_ and regardless of the fact even Midgardians must by now know torture was the quickest route to the least reliable information. That being the case, he had assumed their intent would be to break him physically and then send Romanov to offer pretended sympathy and friendship to the poor shattered victim, in the hope she would then receive his confidence.

Such a plan might even work, supposing the victim was truly broken. Loki, as he waited in the glass cell, had felt little fear of the prospect, assuming as he did that either he could endure whatever came or, if all else failed, the humans would solve his problems by irretrievably killing him. What now occurred to him was a third option: supposing he had panicked? Despite the opinion of Thor's friends, Loki was not much inclined toward cowardice, but-- after all he had endured at the hands of the Other and his henchmen-- he now recognized the possibility that, put in a similar situation once again, he might have been unable to control himself. 

He might have slaughtered everyone on the helicarrier, unless of course the Hulk had gotten to him first. In which case it would have been far better for him if the man-beast had killed him, because whatever the Other _(and whoever controlled the Other)_ would have done to him for a rebellion of that magnitude simply did not bear thinking about. 

_Not, of course, that he was able to stop himself from doing exactly that--_

"Are you all right?" Annie's voice cut through the sudden roaring in his head. 

"Yes," he managed to reply, aware he had snapped at her but unable to control his tone. He would try to remember to apologize later.

Annie, truthfully, did not look too distressed, presumably because he was, after all, not the Loki who mattered to her. He tried not to feel upset by this. 

Tried and failed, which might have been part of the explanation for what happened next. 

He followed Coulson and Natasha into what they referred to as the _guest quarters._ From the corridor they passed through a sliding steel door, into a sort of gathering room with soft furnishings. A corridor opened into it, and there were doors along one wall. 

There was none of the shabby coziness of Annie's home, and little of the comfort of Tony Stark's larger abode. Still, as an improvement over a glass cell it had a great deal to recommend it. Loki was turning to Coulson, to convey the acceptability of the accommodations, when a young woman emerged from the corridor. She was tiny, with long brown hair and large brown eyes. Loki thought she was mortal, but there was something of the look of the Ljósálfar about her-- as well as something disconcertingly familiar. When the woman saw Loki she smiled and advanced upon him with her right hand extended. 

"Hi, I'm Jane Foster. It's nice to meet you."

Her smile collapsed as Loki suddenly recognized her and recoiled violently, backing up until his back contacted the door behind him. 

"Loki, what's the matter?" Annie asked, dismayed. 

"How long do you creatures _live?"_ Loki blurted, unable to tear his eyes from the woman before him. 

_A good friend of Thor's,_ they had called her. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in his chest. A _good friend,_ indeed. In spite of the passage of centuries it transpired he, at least, remembered the woman's face very well, recalled watching her from the throne of Asgard as she fawned over his banished-- over the banished Thor. He remembered her running toward the fallen Thor after the Destroyer struck him. There was no logical reason for him to remember her so clearly _(Thor cared for her, changed himself for her, concerned himself with her-- and not ever Loki)_ but he did, and she should be dead, long dead, not by his hand but the passage of time--

Jane Foster looked startled. "Well, um, I think the average life expectancy for an American woman is eighty or eighty-one, and I'm… just over thirty. Are you okay?"

His attention was distracted by Annie, who caught both his hands in her cold and insubstantial ones and made him look at her. 

"Loki, it's all right. Really. Whatever's wrong, we can talk about it."

"You're wondering why she's still alive," said Coulson, cutting directly to the heart of Loki's distress. 

"Why I'm still alive?" Jane Foster echoed in a feeble little voice. "Should I not be?" She cast a nervous glance at the others, and Coulson addressed his next remarks to her as well as Loki:

"According to the other Avengers, it's been three years of our time since Loki sent the Destroyer to attack Jane Foster's town, and then fell from the Bifrost." Loki looked away from Coulson, his gaze falling on Jane Foster, who still looked bewildered. Agent Coulson said gently, "We think Loki experienced that as a much longer period of time. Can you give us a minute, Dr. Foster?"

If Jane Foster made any reply before leaving, Loki did not hear it, but a moment later Annie was directing him to sit next to her on a sofa-- not as shabby or as comfortable as the one in her home, but solid underneath him-- while Coulson and Natasha Romanov sat down in chairs a little distance away. Coulson leaned forward slightly as he spoke. 

"When I spoke you your bro-- " Loki must have reacted without realizing it, because Coulson smoothly corrected himself: "When I spoke to the Thor from your reality, he mentioned the Loki we know looks the way he remembers you, before you fell from the Bifrost." Loki wanted to make a cutting remark about Thor's ability to _remember_ the appearance of someone he _never willingly looked at,_ but no words came to him. 

Coulson, meanwhile, was speaking in a tone of such calm that Loki felt his own breathing ease slightly. 

"There's a considerable difference in your apparent ages now, which made us-- Annie, and her housemates, and me-- wonder whether you experienced your time in the void as a lot longer. Three years would be meaningless to an Aesir-- " he hesitated in a way that suddenly filled Loki with a sort of superstitious dread, but he did not say _or Jotun,_ simply went on, "Do you have any sense of how long you were in the void?"

Loki became aware he was wringing his hands together, as he used to long ago-- before the void-- in times of distress. He had since been broken of the habit, broken of showing any vulnerabilities, but here they came, creeping back again. Still, even before the void he had never known anyone to notice the gesture or guess its meaning. Coulson and Natasha Romanov-- to say nothing of Annie-- would surely be more observant. He laid his hands flat against his thighs and tried to take a deep breath. 

"They… they kept track," he said eventually. Coulson inclined his head, Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Annie made a little noise of concern. 

"Your captors?" Natasha asked. Loki felt obscurely grateful to her for being direct. He still had difficulty making himself use the term, accurate though it was, but something in him appreciated her plain speaking. 

"Yes. They, they told me. Whenever I... I woke." _Coward,_ he chastised himself. Even when he tried again he could not speak plainly. "Each time I… regained my senses, they would tell me how long it had been, how long I had been there-- " He broke off while he still had control of his voice. 

"How long you had been alone, how long you had been waiting for someone to come looking for you," Coulson said quietly.

Loki found himself staring down at his hands, still splayed out on his thighs, unable to meet anyone's eyes. He nodded.

"And no one came," Coulson went on. Loki nodded again, though it was hardly necessary. Relentless, and yet somehow compassionate, the quiet voice went on, "I don't know exactly how Asgardian years compare to human ones, but I've done a little math based on how old our Loki and Thor look, compared to how old they actually are, and I figure one year of Aesir life is equivalent to something like forty human ones. If you and our Loki were human, I'd guess there was something like six or seven years' difference in your ages. Which, since you were apparently the same age when you each fell from your Bifrost three years ago, suggests that something between two hundred and fifty and three hundred years has passed for you. Is that about right?"

Loki nodded again, still without looking up. A feeling of sick weakness was beginning to envelope him as a buzzing filled his head. He wondered whether this revelation was supposed to come as a comfort to him. Yes, his captors had lied, or at least had told him only part of the truth. He had been in no condition to distinguish between truth and lies from them, any more than he had from the Aesir who had been his keepers all his life. He supposed the irony was deserved, the liar falling again for a lie. 

But little was changed regardless: his former family had still not been looking for him-- they had simply gotten on with their lives even more quickly than he had believed. The only thing that had changed was himself-- always out of step with Asgard, and now out of time as well. He remembered his own taunt to Captain America and along with the sickness came a sour desire to laugh.

"Does this now make me the elder brother?" he heard his own voice say, in a tone of bitter amusement. "It is as well Odin disowned me as I fell, or my return from the dead would be even less welcome." Annie patted his hand and Loki finally raised his eyes to meet hers, his mouth twisting into a thin-lipped rictus that hardly resembled a smile. He then turned toward Coulson. "You have a most unsettling effect upon me. Did we meet in the other reality?"

It was not like him to confess to such weakness, but this was the first remark that came to his mind. And besides, he wanted an explanation for the nagging unease engendered by the presence of the quiet human.

And then he wished he had let well alone _(why begin now?)_ because the agent smiled apologetically and explained,

"Apparently, back in your reality you killed me. Or rather, the Agent Coulson who belonged there."

Loki stared at him, heart sinking. _You lack conviction._ Of course. He had not really remembered the man's face-- their acquaintance had, after all, been short-- but the words had stuck, and stung, and burned in their truth, a truth made all the worse because there was nothing Loki could do about it. 

Coulson, still looking almost sympathetic, now said, 

"I didn't get the whole story. Maybe you had a good reason." 

"I did not," Loki replied shortly. "It was necessary, and I had little choice, but it was not done for a good reason." 

There was more that must be said, but not in front of Annie. After a brief struggle between inclinations, he turned to Annie. "If the other-- if _your_ Loki is here, he will wish to see you, and you him. Should you not seek him out?"

Annie gave him a considering look, apparently not fooled by his pretense, but after a moment she smiled almost naturally and said, "That's a good idea. I'll leave you three to talk, shall I?"

_Not fooled in the slightest._ Annie disappeared down the corridor Jane Foster had come from, and Loki turned to Natasha Romanov, spitting out his confession before he had time to think better of it:

"I… encountered the other Agent Romanov in my reality. I called her offensive names and threatened her." 

"And was that also necessary, but not for a good reason?" Natasha asked. Clenching his hands and pressing his knuckles into his legs hard enough to hurt, Loki nodded. Natasha went on, "Would you have carried out your threats?" She sounded more curious than disturbed. Loki, strangely, was disturbed enough for both of them. 

"Yes," Loki almost snapped. "I would have. It would not have been my choice to do so, but I cannot say it would have troubled me much at the time." 

Natasha's eyes narrowed, but instead of suspicious she looked rather amused. "So what's troubling you now?"

_I do not know._ Awkwardly _(silver tongue turned to lead)_ and once again looking down at his hands, Loki replied quietly, 

"I… would not say such things to you." _Of course he would not: he now had no need to say them._ The point, however, was that his inclination now matched his necessity: he truly did not like to think of spitting such words at this version of Agent Romanov. 

"But you didn't say them to me," Natasha pointed out calmly. "If you're going to apologize to anyone it should be the other Agent Romanov." Loki grimaced and Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "But you're not going to." Loki did not reply. What he had done in the other reality was done, finished. It could not be undone, he would not be forgiven, and he had no wish to encounter any of the other Avengers if it could be avoided. 

This Natasha Romanov was… different. Or perhaps only the circumstances were different, and the agents were the same. Perhaps Loki himself was different, who could say?

"You say you had no choice," Coulson said now. "Can you tell us about that?" Loki compressed his lips. Coulson prodded a little. "We know you were acting at least partly under a compulsion."

It suddenly seemed like too much trouble to prevaricate. "My role was to distract the Avengers, to ensure they concentrated on me and the Chitauri strike force while… my masters… retrieved the Tesseract. Obviously I failed." He laughed, a bitter little bark. "It would have been preferable for the Hulk to have finished me, but even being taken back to die in the cells of Asgard was a fate more merciful than my failure had earned."

"You weren't trying to win?" Coulson asked. 

Loki's laugh this time was almost genuine. "Win? _How?_ A tactical victory in a single engagement, perhaps, but your world would be rather a mouthful for a lone conqueror with a small force and no base of support. My _winning_ was not the point." 

Stark had pointed out the logical flaws in his supposed motivation, not that his insight had done Loki any good. Between the man's taunts and the sheer frustration of yet another opponent seeing just far enough to realize Loki's actions made no sense, but not far enough to imagine what that actually meant, it was a minor miracle Loki had only thrown him out a window. 

"If you went back to your own reality, what are the chances your former captors would punish you for your failure?" Natasha asked. 

"To enter that dimension, they would need to create a portal," Loki replied. "And they cannot do so without the Tesseract, which is now safely back in Asgard. So there is little to fear on that score." He laughed sharply as a thought occurred to him. "In fact, a portal would be needed to return me-- and the other Avengers-- to the other reality. Have you a plan in place for that?"

"Oh, we have some ideas," Coulson replied smoothly, but this time Loki could hear the lie. _Interesting._ Annie and her friends had sworn they would not send him back, and he believed at least in their intentions, but from his point of view a practical impossibility was greatly to be preferred. 

Natasha Romanov rose to her feet. "I should get to that briefing. Agent Coulson will be staying with you."

"I shall endeavor not to kill him," Loki said demurely-- obviously he was not even considering any such thing, but he had been tiresomely meek for long enough. Natasha Romanov smirked as she rose to her feet, clearly taking his remark as a jest. On consideration, he found he preferred she do so. 

"I'd appreciate that," Coulson said in his expressionless voice as Natasha Romanov made her exit, but a hint of humour lurked underneath. Loki found he appreciated that as well. 

~oOo~

Directed by Jane and Pepper, Annie made her way to the closed door at the end of the corridor. She stood listening for a moment, then-- after glancing back to make sure Jane's friend wasn't within sight-- passed through the door into the room. 

The lights were dimmed, and on the bed at the back of the room Annie could see a curled-up shape that, as she approached, resolved itself into Loki and the two kittens. Despite Annie's efforts to be quiet, Loki opened his eyes, momentarily befuddled, then smiled at her and shifted toward the wall so Annie could sit on the edge of the bed. Annie ruffled his hair affectionately.

"You haven't missed anything," she assured him, guessing what his first concern would be. "But I think there's been a message from Bristol so someone will probably come to get you pretty soon."

Loki yawned. "Do we know what the message is?"

"I don't, but I expect the vampire situation is about to get hotter." Annie patted him again. "Go back to sleep, if we don't hear anything in half an hour I'll go find Thor and ask him. All right?"

"All right," Loki, knowing Annie's talent for locating her friends and transporting herself to join them, agreed. Annie patted him again and scratched the kittens' heads while she waited for developments. 

~oOo~

No matter the time of day or night, there was almost always activity around the Port of London, and therefore police on patrol. Constable Milford was accustomed to seeing odd characters at odd times of day. 

However, the man and woman who had just emerged from the shadows and were now walking toward him were distinctly unusual for the place and time of night: their smart business attire-- particularly her high-heeled shoes-- being far better suited to the office than the docks. Puzzled, Milford was about to hail them when the woman caught his eye and smiled. Milford found himself unable to remember what had concerned him about her or her companion. He stood placidly waiting as the two approached. 

Even when their eyes went black and their mouths opened to reveal gleaming fangs, he remained rooted to the spot. He managed to utter a solitary scream, which was immediately cut short.

Shortly afterward, the man and woman resumed their purposeful way inland.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** Alert readers may have noticed that my timeline for when A!Loki went into the void and when he came out are a little messed up-- early in the story I think I said it was a year since the Puente Antiguo incident in alt!verse, whereas in the last couple of chapters I made it three years (which is the timeline in Housemates!verse.) This is what happens when you write a story this long over such an extended period. Sorry to anyone who actually remembered that detail and was bothered by it-- when this monster is eventually finished I'll have to retro-fix the timeline. However, in the meantime, onward! (And-- have another minor character from Being Human canon, because why not!)
> 
>  ** _Warnings:_** In case we need some.

Having been issued one of the local Tony Stark's spare suits-- and didn't _that_ just gall the hell out of him, especially when he recognized it as one Mark older than the one Local-Stark had taken on his mission against Doom's lair-- Stark rejoined his own team mates and returned to the briefing room. 

They arrived before the local Black Widow who, along with Agent Coulson, was apparently debriefing Evil-Loki. Stark was getting used to the idea of this Coulson _(not-dead Coulson)_ being Baby-Faced Loki's handler or whatever _(friend)_ but he still disliked the idea of any Coulson being in close proximity with Evil-Loki. He just had to hope Natasha was up to handling the situation if things went sideways. 

Which, come to think of it, was probably a good bet. 

And speaking of Loki, Stark suddenly realized there was no sign of Baby-Faced Loki in the briefing room, either. That seemed a little weird.

It seemed Stark wasn't the only one thinking that: no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Rogers asked, 

"Is Loki-- is your magical consultant joining us?" 

Aslan-Thor, sitting on the far side of the conference table, actually offered a perfectly civil response:

"He is resting, after a great effort of magic. He is not, after all, fully recovered from his recent ordeal."

Okay, so, maybe not _perfectly_ civil, but Stark was curious enough about the _great effort of magic_ to let _recent ordeal_ pass. So, it seemed, was Rogers:

"Great effort of magic?" he repeated. 

Across the table, the local Tony Stark, who was sitting between the local Rhodey and another guy Stark didn't recognize, looked up with a smirk. "Oh, you should definitely see this. Agent-- ?" He turned to a uniformed SHIELD officer, who was setting up a computer and screen for the meeting. The SHIELD guy seemed to know exactly what Tony Stark was talking about, because as soon as the projection screen came up he immediately brought up YouTube _(YouTube?)_ and rapidly typed "new mexico avengers dragon" into the search box. 

_Dragon?_

The first hit on the results page was titled "AVENGERS AND DRAGON DESTROY FLYING ROBOTS!" which certainly got Stark's attention. Judging by the thousands of hits the video had collected in the hour or so it had been up, it had gotten a lot of other people's as well. 

The video-- wobbly but so clear Stark found himself irrelevantly wondering what kind of cell phone the videographer had been using-- initially tracked through a clear blue sky, before showing a swarm of what Stark knew had to be Doombots. Even knowing things had apparently worked out he still felt cold all over as he watched War Machine and the new guy-- who was almost completely without armour or a helmet-- fly into the midst of them, firing. A moment later, Thor came swooping in and clobbered a couple of the bots out of the sky.

The camera continued to track the swarm, the Doombots mostly ignoring the two humans and the alien, continuing on their programmed course--

\-- and suddenly, looming in front of them, chest and belly lighting up with an internal glow, was an immense dragon. An _actual fucking dragon._ In a matter of about a minute, two separate waves of Doombots were engulfed in flames and fell from the sky in crispy fragments. Once again, in spite of the fact both Thors, the other Tony Stark, Rhodey and the new guy were sitting safely with him around the table, Stark found himself holding his breath as he watched: it seemed impossible they had survived. In fact, the sheer violence of the attack could almost make a person forget it was being launched against robots, and villainous robots at that. Faced with such irresistible destructive force, Stark momentarily found himself almost rooting for the Doombots. 

Which was crazy, and he squelched the thought almost as quickly as it occurred. 

A moment later the dragon vanished from the camera's view, there was a herky-jerky burst of movement, and then a brief glimpse of something tiny falling from the sky. The camera panned around for a few seconds and the SHIELD guy ended the video. 

"Is that what I think that was?" Barton asked, staring at the screen. 

"You mean Smaug?" Banner retorted, his face set into that tense, half-angry look that meant he was working hard to control himself. Banner looked that way most of the time, but it occurred to Stark that here, with the second Banner and the local Avengers, he'd had moments of appearing almost relaxed. It crossed Stark's mind to wonder whether Banner's own team had a bad effect on him, but he pushed the thought away almost as soon as it occurred to him. They had enough real problems without borrowing trouble as well. 

"What's that?" Black Widow spoke up suddenly, pointing at the right side of the screen, where YouTube displayed its related videos. Stark followed her gesture and saw the caption… something to do with a duck.

"That was an appearance the team did on the _Ellen_ show a while back," the SHIELD guy explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Do you have _Ellen_ where you come from?"

"Of course we do," Stark snapped.

"I think they need to see that," the local Tony Stark called out from across the table. "As long as we're still waiting on Natasha." 

As it happened, Natasha joined them just as, onscreen, Loki vanished in a flash of green and his clothing collapsed into an apparently-empty heap. 

"Watching the duck escapade again?" she asked, as she took a seat beside Steve. Who was smiling at Romanov. 

"Like we told you, he does like to be a bird," Steve said.

"Apparently," agreed Romanov, as she watched Aslan-Thor disentangle his mallard brother from his clothing. 

"You can watch the rest of that later," local-Fury (he thought) announced. Taking the hint as the order it was, the agent at the computer stopped the video and brought up the images Romanov had captured during her brief visit to Dr. Doom's study. 

"That's the Pentagon," Stark's Fury (he thought) commented, frowning at the first image that appeared on the screen. 

"And I'm pretty sure that's the British Parliament," the other Tony noted, as a second image replaced the first. Stark got up from his chair and moved closer to the screen. 

"And you found all these in Doom's study?" he asked Romanov. 

"Yes," she agreed. "Loki created a distraction and I did a little snooping."

"What did he turn into this time?" Banner asked, the dark look lightening just a little. _Huh,_ Stark thought, _maybe it was Baby-Faced Loki who had the good effect on him._

"I didn't ask him," Romanov replied, and gestured to the SHIELD guy to move on to the next image. 

There was a definite theme to the slideshow: the third image was of the White House, and the fourth was the Ministry of Defense in London. 

"Well, at least it's not New York this time," Stark muttered-- and then shut up as he first recognized the plans for SHIELD Central, and then for Stark Tower. 

"Smartass," the other Tony remarked as he regarded the screen. "And I would really, _really_ like to know how he got hold of those." Glancing at both Nick Furys, he added, "The plans to my place better not have come from your servers."

"You're not suggesting _you_ don't have plans for SHIELD Central on _your_ servers, are you?" one of the Furies (Stark wasn't sure which, but did it matter?) retorted. 

"You're not suggesting _my_ servers would be easier to hack than SHIELD's, are you?" Stark retorted. Neither Fury had anything to say to that. 

"We've just heard from Barton," said one of the identical Furys, presumably the local one. Stark irrelevantly wondered for a moment whether he could be persuaded to wear a special t-shirt or something so they could tell which one was which-- and then he forgot about that as Fury went on, "Mitchell's contacts in the vampire community are going in undercover to see what they can learn about the Old Ones' plans. I'll pass on the list of targeted locations in London to them."

"And alert the appropriate authorities," the new guy, the Falcon-- Sam Wilson, his name was-- spoke up. Either he wasn't familiar with SHIELD's tendency to hang onto information like Gollum to the One Ring, or he was being an asshole. Stark hoped the latter was the case, since he kind of liked the look of Wilson. 

"Yes," agreed Rogers, "we need to alert British Intelligence, at the very least. Or the police." 

"And tell them what, exactly?" Stark chipped in before Fury could respond. "'So sorry, old chaps, your country is _overrun with fucking vampires'?"_ Rogers opened his mouth to respond, then closed it without speaking. Well, what could he possibly say?

Stark continued, "Fury's right: the thing to do is wipe out the vampires first, and tell the Brits about it later."

"The Old Ones," Rogers corrected, looking very hard at Stark. "You mean the Old Ones."

Stark shrugged. "Hell, I say we get rid of all of them. Except Mitchell, he seems to be all right, but… come on. Vampires wandering around loose? Have you guys learned nothing from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"_

Rogers winced. "This Ivan guy seems to be helpful-- "

"Yes, for exactly as long as it suits his purposes," Stark replied, speaking slowly and clearly. "And when it no longer suits him, he'll go back to drinking human blood. Because he is _a fucking vampire._ He's a monster, and so are all his pals. I don't get what part of this is hard for you to understand."

There were several nods around the table, but Stark noticed that all of them came from his own team, and none of them from Nick Fury. 

"He might be a monster," said the version of Fury that Stark thought belonged in this reality, "but he's a potentially useful ally. Yes, I know," he added, raising a hand to forestall any further commentary from Stark, "he'd make a dangerous and untrustworthy ally. He wouldn't be the first of those we've worked with." He didn't look at Banner-- either of him-- but Stark's team mate looked grim. Fury-- who might not even be referring to the Hulk, after all there was the whole Loki thing and God knew what else-- went on calmly, "There are also the political implications."

"Yeah?" Stark prompted, eyes narrowing. 

"For one thing, do you really think British Intelligence has no idea there are vampires in this country? When there seem to be people at all levels of government willing to cover up for them? For that matter, do you really think vampire activity is confined to this side of the Atlantic?"

Stark opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything useful to say, and closed it. 

_That might explain a lot about senior legal counsel for Stark Industries, actually._

"You think there are vampires in the US?" Barton asked. 

"I'd be mighty damned surprised if there weren't," Fury replied. "And to get back to the point-- there are some very old institutions in this country. We've got nothing to teach them about dealing with supernatural activity. You don't really think it was all my influence that got Loki accepted by the British government as quick as he was, do you?" 

Frankly, Stark hadn't given any thought to the matter at all, but it was pretty clear from the faces around the table that he wasn't the only one. 

"And that being the case," Fury went on, finally dropped the rhetorical questions, "our interference isn't likely to be taken kindly. Especially if it involves _wiping out_ creatures that some level of the British Government has clearly been tolerating all this time."

"Huh," remarked Barton, who didn't sound _nearly_ creeped out enough by this idea to suit Stark. 

"And even without taking the government into consideration," Fury went on, "there's the rest of the supernatural community to think about." 

"You mean they're all allies or something?" Banner asked. "Vampires and werewolves and everybody?"

"Unless _Twilight_ lied to us, I don't think that's true," Stark blurted. 

_"Twilight?"_ Barton repeated, and now he sounded creeped out enough for anybody. 

"Don't look at me," the other Tony Stark said hastily. "I've never read the books _or_ seen the movies." 

"No, I don’t think they're all allies," Fury said, loud enough to draw attention back to himself. "But I also don't think that matters: if we attack one supernatural species, it's a good bet we're going to look like a threat to the rest of them. We-- humans-- are the outsiders here, and we'd be smart to remember that. So-- we work with Ivan and his people, and we don't double-cross them unless they try it on first. Understood?"

"Understood," Barton and Romanov agreed, and after a moment Stark nodded as well. 

"Good," Fury said, and went on with the briefing. 

~oOo~

Tired as he still was, Loki found himself unable to go back to sleep, not even when Annie stretched out beside him in the space he had made for her. He kept thinking of the other Loki, down the corridor from them. He did not feel anxious, exactly, about him being in such close proximity to Jane and the other humans-- Annie seemed to trust him, and even allowing for a certain Loki-shaped blind spot in her perspective, Loki trusted her judgment, particularly where the safety of her friends was concerned.

Really-- and it was both a relief and rather amusing to realize-- Loki found that, more than anything, what he felt for the other Loki was plain curiosity. There was a certain amount of sympathy, and he hoped the second Loki would choose to help in the coming confrontation with Doom and his allies, but there was no denying his dominant sentiment was inquisitiveness. Which suggested he was himself again, and should probably be up and about. 

"What?" Annie asked, turning toward Loki as he sat up, dislodging the indignant kittens who had draped themselves about his person.

"I think I should speak to the other Loki," he explained, then corrected himself. "No-- I _wish_ to speak to him, to know him better." Now he sounded like the Ghost of Christmas Present. "Would you come with me? He seems to trust you." Annie raised her eyebrows and Loki leaned down to kiss her swiftly. "As do I," he added, "which suggests you would be an ideal person to sit between us in case of… disagreement." 

Annie made a face. "You're not going to start a fight with him."

"Not on purpose," Loki admitted. "But you know me, so many of the stupid things I do are not planned out in advance. Ouch," he added dutifully, as Annie swatted him in the arm. She then sat up, swinging her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"Shall we?" she asked, smiling at him. 

All was quiet as they emerged from the chamber, although low voices could be heard from behind a closed door they passed. Loki paused just long enough to identify them as female-- _Jane, Pepper, and Darcy, staying out of the way_ \-- before moving on to the lounge at the end of the corridor. Elizabeth and Philip, tails up, trotted ahead of them into the room. 

Agent Coulson, who was reading a book in a chair near the door, looked up at the kittens' entrance, then toward Loki and Annie. In response to Coulson's gesture the other Loki, who was seated on the sofa, looked sharply around. His expression softened momentarily at the sight of Annie, then darkened again as his eyes fell upon Loki. It was hardly a welcoming mien, but Loki of Bristol considered it canceled by the look at Annie. 

"Hello," he said, with what he knew to be a diffident little smile, and advanced further into the room. Annie glanced at him before walking over to the sofa and perching on the end opposite the second Loki. Recognizing this as a tactical gesture as much as anything, Loki of Bristol sat in the second of the chairs. Elizabeth promptly jumped into his lap, turned herself around several times, and settled down, purring, upon his legs. 

Philip, meanwhile, instead of following his sister, trotted over to the sofa and the other Loki. Ordinarily one would expect Loki of Bristol to be jealous of his kitten's attention _(and his jealousy did not end well for anyone)_ but instead all he felt was relief when the black-and-white kitten scrambled up beside the second Loki and butted his head against the other's arm. 

The second Loki looked down at the kitten with relief that probably would not be obvious to observers less attuned to the reactions of Lokis in general. Carefully, as if unused to gestures of tenderness, he reached down with a forefinger to smooth the fur between Philip's half-closed eyes. His reward was a reverberating purr. 

Ordinarily, Loki of Bristol was seldom at a loss for words, but he was greatly relieved when Annie leaned forward to look at the book in Agent Coulson's hands. 

"I see you're reading _Men At Arms._ Have you finished with it, Loki?" she asked, with a glance at the second Loki. 

"…no," he said after a moment, without looking at her. 

"I suppose you haven't had much time to read in the last few hours," Annie went on comfortably, which was such a ridiculous understatement that it became obvious she was simply trying to initiate conversation. "One of the boys must have grabbed that for you before they left Tony's house. Loki, have you read that one?" she asked, turning to Loki of Bristol. 

"I have not," Loki replied, leaning forward to look at the cover of the book. "That is not one of the books about the witches, is it? I am quite fond of the witches."

The moment he uttered the words he knew they were a mistake, although he had no idea why: he had the fascinating experience of being able to see what he looked like with his doors barred and the shutters drawn. To his relief, Annie went on as if nothing was amiss:

"I expect Loki's had all he can stand of witches, haven't you, Loki?" She was addressing the second Loki, who-- to Loki of Bristol's relief-- unbent slightly at the sympathy. 

"They can be a little high-handed," Agent Coulson remarked calmly, and the new Loki nodded, his still-clenched expression softening a little further. Apparently, the new Loki was also susceptible to expressions of understanding and sympathy. This was reassuring. 

"I have noticed the same thing," Loki of Bristol agreed, which was perhaps disloyal of him, but was the truth. On an impulse, he went on, "My first contact with them consisted of trying to convince Catherine to help me find Agnes and persuade her to undo a spell on my-- on Thor." In a chatty, inconsequential tone he went on, "She had changed him into a kitten as punishment for human mythology." 

_Ah, this was hopeful_ \-- the new Loki's expression flickered, a flash of amusement finding its way past the guards. 

"He was a lovely kitten," Annie said fondly. "But we should have known then that witches have a habit of doing what they think is right without asking anyone else's opinion. I'm really sorry we didn’t think of that when we asked for their help."

The new Loki shrugged slightly, looking down at Philip again. "At least they removed the chains and muzzle. And… the spell that replaced them has not inconvenienced me unduly."

"They placed a spell upon you?" Loki of Bristol prompted, as gently as possible.

The other Loki's lips quirked, which was also a hopeful sign. "I am unable to perform-- or even think very hard about-- any act that George would consider immoral." 

Loki blinked, and was unable to prevent himself from asking, "And what happens if you try?"

Unexpectedly, the second Loki's face relaxed into something approaching a smile. "I hear his voice in my head, scolding me." 

Actually laughing out loud would be tactless, and Loki fought manfully to control the urge. Annie, on the other hand, did not-- she uttered one of her remarkably infectious giggles and then covered her mouth with an apologetic grimace. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I just… I can imagine it. What a thing to do to you."

The second Loki unbent still further, tiny creases forming in the corners of his eyes as he looked at her. His words, however, belied the expression and his light tone:

"Oh, in terms of being bent to the will of another, I have certainly experienced worse."

"Indeed?" Loki of Bristol inquired. He knew about this, had been told a little of the story, and he would have preferred not to pick at the other Loki.

The trouble was, there was always the chance the other Loki might be lying. 

It made him feel rather guilty even to think of it, but one must be practical. And it would surely be logical for someone in this Loki's position to put the best possible face on his own actions, make a play for sympathy. Of course Annie, Agent Coulson, and Natasha Romanov were good judges of character, at least two of them knew Loki very well, and at least two of them (not necessarily the same two) were adept at detecting lies. 

On the other hand-- Loki had never really attempted to lie to any of these three, so he was unsure how they would fare against his best effort. And his own ability both to tell and to perceive lies had been centuries in the making. 

"Yes," the other Loki replied, his tone cool and detached, but something raw lay buried underneath, something that trembled and tried to avert its face from the light. It was cruelty to persist, but also necessary. 

"Will you tell me about it?" Half invitation, half request, in no way a command, Loki hoped his words would not make his _doppelganger_ take offense and refuse to speak at all. The second Loki froze momentarily, posture stiff, and Philip looked anxious at the change in the body next to him. 

And then… something in the other surrendered, rather the way, long ago _(not so long as all that)_ when he first came to Bristol, Loki had responded to Mitchell's soft-voiced question by blurting out a litany of his own wrongdoing and crimes. After so long alone in the void with no companion save the magic that scoured him, Loki had reached out desperately for-- what? Absolution?

No, not that. Not exactly. Understanding? Or simply the relief of, as the Midgardians would say, _getting it off his chest._ Painful as such confession had been-- and it was scarcely less painful, much later, when the subject turned to wrongs done _to,_ rather than _by_ himself-- he could not deny that he had felt… lighter… for doing so. 

Still without looking up from the black-and-white kitten who had now insinuated himself into his lap, the broken Loki began to speak. 

Of the void, which for him had not been empty. Of the creatures dwelling there, of capture and flight and escape, again and again--

\-- until resourcefulness failed, escape proved impossible, and he found himself helpless in the hands of the Chitauri, and the being who seemed to rule them. He spoke at length, his voice becoming distant, dispassionate, though the underlying tremor never really left it. 

It was a gruesome story, one Loki wished Annie was not there to hear-- not that she seemed overmuch in need of his protection. Her face grew pale and set as she listened, but she did not recoil or move away. Agent Coulson leaned forward slightly, his expression calm and understanding. Perhaps the speaker could sense the support. Loki hoped so. 

Regardless, he was left convinced every word of the other Loki's story was true, or at least was exactly what Loki remembered. The humans' machine had measured breathing, heartbeat, and such to recognize lies, and so could perhaps be tricked or confused. Loki felt lies in his bones, smelled them, could all but taste them. In recent years it had become much more difficult to fool himself over his own intentions, and that was the skill he now drew upon. 

There were no deliberate lies here, although given the state the other Loki had been in for much of the time it was possible his memory might be faulty. That last was irrelevant: intentions were all that mattered to Loki of Bristol, and the intent to deceive was not there.

"…and so I arrived on Midgard with my mission," the other Loki's exhausted voice completed the story. He smiled bitterly. "You know, I think, how that ended."

"Yes," agreed Loki of Bristol. Terrible things had been done to the innocent people of Midgard, and it bothered him that the fact did not bother the other Loki more… but he had himself been in the void for quite some time before he began to feel regret for what he had done, and his own circumstances had been considerably less dire than the other Loki's. Perhaps, in time, regret would come.

What he now must do was… reach out. The other Loki had little reason to like or trust him, indeed it was easy to imagine why his feelings might be quite the opposite. But after Doom and the vampires had been dealt with, there would still be the second Loki to think of, and it would be easier to work out how to proceed if a little trust existed. Annie and Agent Coulson had done their part, now it was his own turn. 

"Thank you for, for confiding in us," he said formally, trying to think what to say. Annie leaned over and put a hand on the other Loki's arm. 

"Yes," she said warmly. "Thank you. It must have been awfully hard for you to talk about."

The other Loki bit his lip, and Loki found himself reflecting that it might have reached the point where it was harder to hold things in than to let them out. He stayed quiet. 

Annie went on reassuringly, "Well, you're safe now. You don't need to worry about-- "

 _"No,"_ the other Loki said, much too loudly. He started a little at his own voice, looked around uneasily, then repeated in a rather more measured tone, "No. I have no wish to have any contact with, with the other Avengers, but I will… help against this Doom." His expression tightened and he went on, "I owe him a service."

"I see," Agent Coulson said, with a thoughtful expression. "Yes, I do see."

~oOo~

Geoff stood by himself at the edge of the room, trying to look as if he was listening as Seth exhorted the faithful. It was a theme they'd all heard before, back when Herrick was leader and Seth his chief toady. The trouble was Seth had neither the strength of character nor the brains of Herrick, so he looked ridiculous.

In Geoff's eyes, at least. Covertly looking around the room it was evident that some of Herrick's true believers were loyal to the message. Cara, for instance, was nodding at every word out of Seth's mouth and sometimes interjecting exclamations of approval that seemed to annoy more than encourage him.

Geoff knew perfectly well that nobody paid much attention to him, and that was one of the things that annoyed him about Cara: her inflated ideas of her own importance. Her insistence that Herrick had _chosen_ her, that it made her special. Herrick had been dead for two years and she still hadn't let go of it, of the idea she was Herrick's chief mourner. Which, now you came to think of it, was probably the reason Seth looked so aggravated-- that was supposed to be _his_ role.

Anyway, everyone except Cara knew that Cara was a non-entity. Herrick had only turned her in the first place because she worked at the canteen in the hospital where Mitchell was a porter. Her only purpose was to keep an eye on Mitchell-- who really _was_ important to Herrick, really _was_ Chosen. If Herrick had lived a bit longer the poor daft cow probably would have had to face the truth: not only was she of no importance _now,_ she never _had_ been. 

_Sounds familiar, yeah?_

"Didn't know you were back."

If he said so himself, Geoff did quite a decent job of pretending not to be startled at Gareth's words. Bloody Gareth. So soft-footed and slick and a sight too pleased with himself. Really, even if he'd thought the grand plan to subjugate humanity had a chance of succeeding-- and he didn't-- Geoff reckoned he'd still want to be on whatever side was opposite Gareth. Arsehole. 

"I haven't been gone," Geoff replied, trying for cool. He didn't quite manage it _(feeble, that's the word you mean)_ and felt himself flush angrily as Gareth smirked. _Arsehole._ Shrugging, Geoff explained gruffly, "Things were a bit confused. I thought I'd keep my head down until I'd worked out what to do."

"Yeah? And you decided to join us?" Geoff nodded. In a harder tone, Gareth asked, "Why? I never thought of you as the kind to take risks."

Geoff shrugged again, smiled thinly. "Maybe I got tired of never being part of anything important."

Gareth fixed him with an assessing look-- and then smiled. In its way the smile was just as disturbing as the smirk had been. He leaned in, so close Geoff had to force himself not to back away, and murmured, 

"Well, you're about to be part of something about as important as it can be."

"That's what I want," Geoff replied, his own voice both frightened and determined in his ears. "When do we start?"

Gareth looked around, to where Seth-- looking completely out of his depth and every bit the jumped-up underling he was-- stood gladhanding the faithful _(Herrick's faithful)_ and trying to block Cara's efforts to take over. 

"Any minute now," Gareth replied. "We're just waiting on the signal. To bigger things." Gareth glided away as the old woman vampire who posed as the receptionist of B. Edwards Funeral Home walked in, approached Seth, and whispered something in his ear. Geoff had been a hunter long enough to recognize the way Seth's body went still and predatory as he listened, then nodded, eyes gleaming. 

"It's time," he announced, and suddenly he didn't look half so foolish.

Geoff stuck his hands in his pockets, fingers closing around the two-pound coin the witch had laid the spell of protection on. Across the room, behind Seth, Campbell the other double agent caught his eye. 

_About to be part of something important._


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _In case anyone's forgotten the timing, I just want to point out that H!Loki's concern about the safety of ants was written into the series before the first Avengers movie was released. And yes, I was amused by the ant/boot exchange._
> 
>  _The agency mentioned in this chapter is entirely fictitious-- in fact, it turns out one version of it was actually created by Marvel, although I don't think this version bears any resemblance at all to that one._
> 
> **_Warnings:_** _None._

Agent Coulson very sensibly suggested that, if he was not planning to rest any longer, then Loki of Bristol should go along to the briefing while he, Coulson, remained in the guest quarters with the new Loki. Loki of Bristol chose not to wonder very hard whether that was for the new Loki's peace of mind, or for the safety of Jane and the others. New Loki's expression suggested his thoughts were proceeding along similar lines. 

Regardless, when he got up to leave Annie rose as well. 

"I'll go along to the briefing with you, and then I can come back and tell Loki anything Colonel Fury needs him to know," she said firmly, before anyone could speak. She smiled at New Loki. "Is that all right with you?"

New Loki drew himself up a little, perhaps holding himself together. "Yes, that is acceptable," he replied, rather stiffly but without anger. "I will wait to hear from you." 

"Good," Annie said warmly. After confirming that the others would be in the familiar conference room near the flight deck, Loki and Annie left. Loki glanced back as he closed the door, to see Elizabeth had already leapt onto the sofa and was marching toward the other Loki, apparently intent upon claiming a share of his lap. And it was not that he believed his pets had any special ability to judge the intent of others-- how could they, when so far as they were concerned the world was kind and so was everyone in it?-- but he found himself reassured by the fact the other Loki seemed to welcome the kittens' overtures. 

As they hurried down the corridor-- it seemed rude to simply teleport into a briefing, and Loki thought it best not to antagonize the second set of Avengers if he could help it-- Loki received input from a much more trustworthy source. 

"What did you think of his story?" Annie asked. 

"I thought it was appalling," Loki admitted. 

"So did I, but that's not what I meant," she said. "Did you believe him?"

"I did. Had you any doubts?" 

"He hadn't told me most of it. Which is understandable, I wouldn't want to talk about it either." Annie had, of course, only recently remembered the circumstances surrounding her own death, partly because it was only now she possessed the emotional resources to withstand the knowledge. She went on, "Now that I've heard it, I believe him. What about you? Were you trying to figure out whether he was lying?"

Loki smiled crookedly. "You know me too well," he said, which was exactly the opposite of a complaint. 

Annie smiled back, her eyebrows lifting, and slipped her arm through his. "And--?" she prompted. 

"I am sure he was not," Loki replied. He resolutely refused to picture any of the things New Loki had described to them, but was unable to repress a shiver. 

Even so--

"You still have doubts about _him,_ though," Annie said. "Maybe not his story, but _him."_

Loki's response was part shrug, part uneasy squirm, and then he said, "Whether he was in control of himself or not, the harm done to the people of Midgard was terrible. Has he ever spoken of that?" _Does he care?_

Annie looked down, chewing on her lip, and for a moment Loki feared she thought him ungenerous. Which was, of course, true, but he did not mean his question that way. He genuinely wished to know whether the other Loki had told Annie things he preferred not to share with Coulson or himself-- whether to mask a vulnerability of his own, or out of fear of putting a thought into their minds regarding punishment. Even Loki of Bristol was inclined to sympathize with the other's wish to be excused further suffering. 

"No, he hasn't," she admitted. "But… I think he's beginning to see us differently. I mean, compared to Asgard we probably looked, to him, like little ants crawling around on an anthill. Why would he care what happened to us?" She squeezed his arm. "Yes, I know, _you_ care about ants."

"To be perfectly accurate, my concern to begin with was for the children who cared about the ants," Loki reminded her. 

Annie laughed. "And that amounts to exactly the same thing, if you think about it. No, I don't think he was bothered by what those creatures made him do to, to Midgard. Not when he was actually doing it. I don't think he _could_ \-- I mean, if he was in the state you were, when he fell into the void in the first place-- " she tightened her grip on Loki's arm as he stiffened in recollection-- "and then he… went through all that-- "

"-- he was in no condition to worry about anyone but himself," Loki completed the thought.

"Exactly," Annie said. "I mean, it's understandable."

"True," Loki agreed. "I have been remembering that I was myself a considerable time in the void before I was able to regret my own actions. And my sojourn there was specifically meant to enable me to do so."

"The thing is," Annie said, "I think he's starting to-- When he let the Doombots take him, at Tony's place, he did it partly to protect the rest of us. He said he owed us that much. I'm sure he meant it. He also… before he said that, when he was arguing with us, explaining his thinking, he said something about the house being destroyed." Loki blinked, uncomprehending, and Annie spelled it out for him: "He was explaining why it made sense for him to surrender, that if he didn't we'd all be killed-- well, not me obviously, but George and Nina and the Avengers-- so there'd be nobody to rescue him anyway. And that all made sense if he was just thinking about his own interests, but then he said something about how the house would be destroyed, too, and everything in it. Everything, including the kittens, and JARVIS-- I don't know if he knows exactly what JARVIS is, that he doesn't just exist there, but 'the house and everything' had nothing to do with his safety, so why would he include that if he was only thinking about himself? I'm pretty sure he just thought he owed us something. If he still thought we were ants, why would he even consider that?"

"True," Loki said, a warm feeling of relief beginning to bloom in his chest. Annie looked sharply at him. 

"Even if he didn't, he's not you," she pointed out. "It would be nothing to do with you."

"No, of course not," Loki replied, fidgeting under her regard. 

But still… 

~oOo~

Ordinarily, Edgar Wyndham was a being much concerned with his own dignity, little inclined to see humour in situations that resulted in himself looking foolish. In fact, such circumstances generally ended in bloodshed. 

However, as he recalled the incident in the corridor he found himself for once nearly inclined to laugh-- not out of any sudden decrease in his own self-esteem, but because the memory of pompous Doom, arms and legs flailing as he slid across a soap-slicked marble floor, was almost irresistibly funny. 

_Almost._ As much as he enjoyed seeing Doom humbled in such a manner, Wyndham did not appreciate receiving the same treatment. Loki would be made to pay for this. 

He did not, of course, say as much. It was hardly necessary, not with plans for retribution already written in the set of Doom's shoulders as he strode down the corridor to his study _(his drenched cape slapping against and clinging to his legs with every stride.)_ Wyndham had followed in silence, then had returned to his assigned chamber to change his clothing and incidentally receive a message from his servant in England. Seth was a fool, but fools had their uses, and he was a true believer in the goals and ambitions of his fallen leader, Herrick. Herrick had been only slightly less a fool, his grand intentions less _plans_ than _assumptions,_ but the followers he left behind were useful indeed. 

When he returned to join Doom in his study, it was to find the other standing before his great oaken table, studying the papers and plans scattered upon it. The iron mask naturally concealed his features, but Wyndham was an excellent interpreter of posture, and he had little difficulty reading Doom's current thoughts.

"Has anything been disturbed?" he asked bluntly, aware this was not a confidence Doom would volunteer. 

After a brief hesitation, Doom shook his head, saying sharply, "Of course not." 

Wyndham accepted the answer, but now he had another question. The room smelled of human, and he could not recall whether it had done so before they ran out to respond to the alarm. He therefore inquired,

"Do your servants enter this room? Not the-- " _Doombots_ was such a foolish word he was unable to utter it-- "the mechanical servants. Humans. Are they permitted entry here?"

Doom turned slowly to face Wyndham. The vampire reflected that this gesture was probably meant to be threatening, but here was the disadvantage to keeping one's face covered: Doom was unable to use his expressions to emphasize the threat in his body language. Wyndham cocked his head slightly, permitting his expression to reflect a trace of amusement in addition to ordinary inquiry. Wyndham's intent was to unsettle Doom, remind him that, whatever the sorcerer believed, _he_ was no mere minion. 

Doom, as Wyndham expected, seemed to realize that losing Loki was enough of a setback for one day, without also alienating his supposed partner. 

"Yes, my human servants enter this room. They are loyal to me," he added, and his ominous tone did not quite conceal a certain defensiveness, a hint of _protesting too much._ And then it hardened, became more definite: "You will not touch them."

Wyndham raised his hands in a parody of surrender. "Of course, of course," he murmured. Doom did not ask what had prompted the question, so Wyndham did not volunteer his reasons, instead dismissing the thought from his mind. If a servant had taken the opportunity to spy on his master-- _her_ master, unless he was mistaken-- that was Doom's concern. 

Unless, of course, Doom's hesitation meant he suspected the prisoner had not escaped entirely by his own efforts. Wyndham wondered that himself-- he intended, if Doom did not, to _have a word_ with any servants who might have access to this room. Mere curiosity could of course explain any meddling with these documents, and _mere curiosity_ was to Wyndham an offence ordinarily punishable by death. On the other hand, it was not worth the conflict with Doom to carry out such a sentence. 

"Do any of these same servants have access to the dungeons?" Wyndham asked now.

"No," Doom replied, and this time the tone was curt, matter-of-fact. No doubt here at all. "There are wards on the door at the bottom of the stairwell, so that no living creature may pass through it without my leave."

"Ah," said Wyndham, thoughtfully. "Though this of course explains why I was able to enter and exit the dungeons unescorted-- I am not, after all, alive-- we are no closer to learning how Loki was able to effect his escape. Is there perhaps another way out, one unprotected by your spells?" Doom grunted, and Wyndham passed on to another interesting question: "And-- he was in a weakened condition when last I saw him, so is it possible he had assistance?" Had Wyndham been given a free hand, he would certainly have found out what the servants knew of this matter-- it was truly astonishing how flaying concentrated the mind. 

Or perhaps--

"Might someone have got in to help him?" he asked.

"Not without my knowledge," Doom asserted. 

Wyndham uttered a short, sharp laugh, rather like a fox's bark. "And yet Loki regained his powers without your knowledge." He frowned. "Rather quickly, when one comes to think of it-- I had overpowered him quite easily only a short while ago. Are you _sure_ he escaped on his own?" 

There was, from Doom, an aura as of raised eyebrows. "Are _you_ sure he was not making play of falling under your power?" the sorcerer retorted. 

"Yes," Wyndham replied simply. 

"And I, too, am sure. Were there others here, I would have sensed it. The cloak of magic that envelops this castle is my second set of eyes."

Wyndham allowed his expression to suggest the second set of eyes might be in need of spectacles, but chose this time to hold his peace. Enjoyable as it would be to bait Doom further, he must be sensible. The loss of Loki was a setback, and despite his amusement at Doom's chagrin, he was also very much aware of the difficulty of his own position. 

Schooling his tone into something more conciliatory, he changed the subject:

"I have received a message from Seth. He tells me the Bristol vampires are now… receptive… to our plans. I should return to England to meet with them." Doom turned back to his papers, grunting a species of dismissal. 

Internally, Wyndham sighed. He was experienced enough in politics (one did not live a thousand years as a vampire without being _very_ good at politics) to know when to conciliate.

"Loki cannot have gotten far," he reminded Doom. "And his powers must be greatly depleted by the effort of his escape. Your mechanical servants will capture him soon, and then you will of course immediately turn to… stronger forms of persuasion."

"Indeed," Doom intoned, with an unmistakable air of brightening up. Rather sorry he could not be present to assist in the _stronger forms of persuasion,_ Wyndham nevertheless felt it wisest to assert his own leadership over the other vampires before the other Old Ones arrived. 

One did not live a thousand years as a vampire without learning to protect one's place in the hierarchy. 

Leaving Doom to the contemplation of both his papers, and the amusement to come, Wyndham returned to his chamber to prepare for his own departure. 

~oOo~

Clint, Mitchell, and George made it to London in a little over two hours, driving the inconspicuous black Honda at a pace that suggested a little extra under the bonnet. Instead of the rebuilt SHIELD HQ, however, Clint took them directly to Whitehall, where they left the car in a government car park and then made their way to the Admiralty. 

Well, not quite the Admiralty, more a warren of corridors somewhere _below_ the Admiralty. 

"Where are we?" George whispered-- the sound of their footsteps had an uncanny sound down here, and he didn't want to hear his own question echo back like something out of a story by Poe. "Not SHIELD?"

"No," Clint replied, in a normal voice. "Apparently MI-13 is assisting us on this operation."

 _"MI-13?"_ George repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah. Military Intelligence, Section Thirteen. Don't feel bad, I didn't know about them until about ten minutes ago myself. They're apparently kind of a shadow agency, they deal with… weird occurrences around Britain. They were probably responsible for Loki getting his papers as easily as he did." Before either of his companions could press for more information, he stopped at a heavy iron door, glanced up at a camera above it, then looked around the frame for a moment and pressed something. George couldn't hear anything but he assumed it was some sort of buzzer. A moment later, the door unlocked itself. Clint pushed it open and the group stepped through. 

Just inside the door they encountered a sober-suited male agent aged somewhere between forty and a thousand, sort of a less-cheerful, British version of Coulson. 

"This way," he said briskly, already beginning to walk down yet another corridor. "My chief is waiting for you." 

The "chief," when they encountered him, turned out to be a very senior civil servant; a little grey man in a grey suit, spare and dry with a desiccated yet plummy voice. Sort of a pruney voice, as it were. George felt his hackles rise as the door closed behind them. Either not noticing or not caring, the little grey man directed the three to sit in what turned out to be quite comfortable armchairs. In spite of the distance underground, the office they occupied had the faint echoes of an old-fashioned study, down to the glass-fronted book cases that lined one wall and the discreet side table bearing a tray with crystal glasses and a heavy decanter of a deep red liquid that might have been port. 

_Might_ have been port. This soon after the full moon, George should have been able to identify the contents by smell from across the room. Something made him decide not to try. 

"Good of you to come," the grey man greeted them. "Felt we should offer our help. We were notified you were in need of some armaments for a specialized job. Hem. Quartermaster thought these would suit."

Clint opened his mouth, possibly to inform the grey man that SHIELD was good for weapons, thanks-- and then he closed it again when he realized the grey man was gesturing toward another side table where lay a quiver of arrows. Arrows with smooth brown shafts. 

"Are those-- ?" Clint began, in a courteous, incurious voice that concealed his emotions very well. The grey man nodded as he broke in, 

"Wooden. Yes."

"You don't often see classic wooden arrows in my line of work," Clint noted, as he stood and approached the table to take a look. 

"Hem," said the grey man again, and this time the sound appeared to be an attempt at a chuckle. "Well. Our office is rather specialized as well, so to speak." 

"Specialized how?" Clint asked, as he slipped one of the arrows from the quiver and held it up to look professionally down the shaft. There was no arrowhead, just a sharpened taper at the end. Mitchell went suddenly very still, and with an apologetic glance at him Clint replaced the arrow with its fellows in the quiver. 

The grey man grimaced. It was probably the closest he could get to a smile. "I'm sure you have been made aware of our mandate."

 _"Weird occurrences,"_ Clint replied flatly. "I assume that includes vampires?"

"Hem," said the grey man. By this time George was almost certain their host was a vampire, himself. "Have to be ready, don't you know, in case anyone gets ideas. In case someone has to be… put down."

"But you tolerate them," Clint said coolly. "The vampires. You put up with them." George felt a sudden shiver of dread crawl down his spine. _Don't antagonize him._

He had underestimated the grey man, who offered a much closer approximation of a smile as he said, 

"Bloodthirsty lot, of course, but so far their intentions have never been translated into serious action. Your friend Herrick, for instance-- " the little grey man's equally grey gaze fixed itself on Mitchell, who did not move-- "my office followed his career with a great deal of interest, up to its untimely-- and may I say quite unexpected-- end. We never had to do anything about him, but of course if he had ever looked like being more serious we would have… taken steps. Still, there are undeniable benefits to our… tolerance, shall we say."

"Yeah?" Clint asked, inclining his head. 

"What benefits are those?" George asked, partly out of an obscure desire to cover for Mitchell's continued and obviously intimidated silence. 

"Your friend here is unusual, but not unique," the grey man said mildly. "Very useful agents, some of them. And there are… circumstances, in which such allies are most welcome."

"Such as?" Clint prodded. His tone wasn't exactly challenging, but… it wasn't exactly _not,_ either. 

"You have probably heard of Operation Sea Lion," the grey man replied gently. "Had the invasion actually occurred, there was an agreement in place with a number of senior vampires, to have their people… turn their attention to the invaders." At Clint's momentarily dumbfounded expression, the grey man pointed out, "One does not have to be alive to be a patriot." When his guests had nothing further to say the grey man went on, "Obviously my department has no intention of allowing vampires-- or any other supernatural force-- to take over the country. However, over the past thirty years our funding has been repeatedly cut by governments with little vision and less imagination, and so our contribution to this operation will be largely advisory."

"And arrows," said Clint.

"Indeed," said the grey man, head inclined in what the others were more than happy to take as a gesture of dismissal. 

They were very grateful indeed when they were above ground once again. 

"Whew," Clint murmured as they walked back to the car. "I thought Coulson was a cool customer. Was that guy-- I mean, do you think he was-- ?"

"Yes," Mitchell replied flatly. 

"Did you know him?" Clint asked. Mitchell shook his head. "I wonder if Ivan does?"

George had been wondering the very same thing. 

~oOo~

After the door closed behind Annie and the other Loki, Loki had a moment of unease that was only slightly diminished by the second, mostly-black, little cat crowding into his lap. He was acutely aware that he was alone with a man he had murdered-- well, more or less-- and despite Coulson's air of calm acceptance (and the fact he was once again peacefully reading) Loki found the whole situation deeply uncomfortable.

For that reason he was more relieved than he would have believed possible when Jane Foster, followed by two other mortal women, hesitantly entered the room.

"Um, hi," Foster said, and smiled rather tentatively at both of them. 

"Hello, Dr. Foster," Coulson replied courteously, as he set down his book. "Ms. Lewis, Ms. Potts. Good to see you all safe."

Foster made an awkward noise of thanks. One of her companions, a young dark-haired woman, spoke up.

"Jane and Pepper and I were just about to have lunch when, you know, the whole Doombot thing happened. We were wondering if there's any chance of us getting something to eat?"

"We've checked the kitchenette," Foster added apologetically. "There's nothing there."

"Not even crackers," said the dark-haired young woman, her tone exaggeratedly mournful. In the next second she noticed Loki's lap. "Ooh, kitties!"

"That was thoughtless of someone," Coulson said, and rose to his feet. He glanced at Loki, who was struggling to remain composed as the young woman practically sat in his lap to make a fuss of the little cats. The mostly-black one immediately slithered to the floor to hide under the sofa. Loki rather wished he could follow her. "Loki, are you hungry? I could eat, I think." 

Loki blinked, suddenly aware that, under his rising anxiety, he was indeed hungry, and the two things were probably connected. 

"I, too, could eat," he murmured. Coulson nodded agreeably and went over to speak into a communication device in the wall. 

As they waited for the food to be brought, Loki forced himself to turn to Jane Foster. "I… earlier, when I spoke to you, I… it was not my intention to alarm you as I did. I… apologize."

"Don't worry about it," said Jane Foster, awkwardly. "I guess I surprised you. Darcy, come on, leave him alone. And the cats." 

Darcy made a face at her friend, but moved to the other end of the sofa. Jane Foster smiled apologetically at Loki and sat next to her friend, between them. The third woman, this Ms Potts, a tall woman with reddish-golden hair, moved gracefully to another chair and sat. Loki, reminded of another tall, graceful, golden woman, could hardly bear to look at her. 

Coulson turned back to the room. "Lunch, or whatever we want to call it, will be along shortly. Loki, have you met everyone?" Loki nodded tensely, and Coulson looked amiably around the room. "Well, then."

Agent Coulson was correct; the food did arrive before very long, hot and savoury meat with steaming vegetables, and the group moved to a table in an alcove to eat. The young woman named Darcy coaxed the two little cats to sit on the tabletop next to her and eat from her plate-- behaviour which Loki felt quite sure was not permitted and would later need to be corrected. However, since the alternative was listening to her incessant chatter, he said nothing. Surely Annie and the others would be able to remind the little cats of the rules of appropriate behaviour at some later date. 

Jane Foster and the other woman, this Mizz Potts whose given name was revealed to be "Pepper," talked in a more restful manner to Agent Coulson, and even made efforts to include Loki in their conversation. This was less than successful until Foster leaned forward and said, 

"Look, I know being kidnapped by Dr. Doom must have been pretty disorienting for you, but Agent Coulson and his people are really good. They'll figure out a way to get you back home. Oh no, wait, I'm sorry," she went on, in almost the same breath, as Loki stiffened. "I'm sorry. I forgot-- things are pretty different, where you come from. _Thor_ is pretty different." 

Loki could not deny that it was balm to hear _Jane Foster_ speak of the golden prince in such a tone, but Agent Coulson was there, and Agent Coulson knew… _everything._ And perhaps he would not give Loki away to Jane Foster if he told her lies, but perhaps he would. And anyway, an experienced liar such as Loki was not wasteful of his lies, did not tell them in circumstances in which he would immediately be found out, at least not when there was no obvious tactical advantage to so doing. 

"I, too, am different," he reminded her. "I am not the well-disposed Loki of this realm. You should… remember that."

"Oh, he wasn't 'well-disposed' either, the first time we met him," Darcy spoke up from down the table. "As a matter of fact he was pretty much a total dick, practically destroyed our whole town."

Loki held perfectly still, Annie's voice suddenly filling his ears once again. _He'd made some terrible mistakes, had done some terrible things…_

_…and he thought he could never make up for them…_

"There was a, sort of a robot-- Thor called it the Destroyer," Jane Foster spoke up, with a glance of warning at Darcy. Loki, busy remembering the rest of Annie's words, barely noticed it. _He fell._ He had forgotten that conversation, forgotten Annie's numerous hints, the suggestions that _her_ Loki was after all not the blameless innocent he had constructed in his head, nor indeed the petted favourite he imagined when he thought of that youthful face. 

"It blew up a lot of stuff, buildings and things, and if Thor's friends hadn't drawn its attention there probably would have been a whole bunch of people killed," Darcy went on, ignoring Jane's efforts to silence her. "I don't suppose you-- "

"Oh, yes," Loki interrupted. _Why not?_ Harshly, he went on, "I did exactly the same thing, attacked Thor, gave him the same chance to prove himself a worthy son of the Allfather and win back his place in Asgard. He then foiled all my evil schemes." That last was uttered with scathing bitterness -- _When did Thor begin to care for monsters? Had he not always sworn to hunt them down? Why was it different when Loki was the one destroying them?_ Once again he remembered Annie's words, as they sat in the other Loki's sleeping chamber, about that Loki's attack on the Jotnar. _When he attacked them, he didn't realize he was committing a crime against people._ "I tried to destroy a realm of monsters, and of course the hero of Asgard saved them as well." _The other Loki had done the same thing. They were the same then, but now they were not. What was the difference between them? Did it even matter?_ "And then, since there seemed little further purpose in my continued existence-- " 

Jane winced, as did the golden woman, Pepper Potts. He did not look at Darcy. Agent Coulson spoke up, confirming-- as if it was necessary-- Annie's account of the matter. 

"This Loki did pretty much all the same things. And then he fell into the void. Let himself fall. His experiences there were… different from yours. As were his actions, after he emerged."

"So I gathered," Loki said drily. 

"There was a spell," Jane Foster said apologetically. She looked unsure of the wisdom of continuing, but after a moment's hesitation she went on, "He was protected by magic, when he was in the void. It kept him safe, helped him heal, so that by the time he emerged here on Earth he could… He was given a second chance, I guess you'd say." Loki nodded stiffly, looking down at his plate. He was still hungry, but the contents no longer looked appetizing. 

And then Agent Coulson said quietly, 

"This could be your second chance. Whether you join us against Doom or not, whether you stay in this reality or go back to the other one. What you do from now on will be up to you." 

Loki nodded without looking up from his plate. After a moment, the others resumed their conversations, and their talk quietly eddied around him.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _I hope everyone celebrating a holiday this season had a happy and peaceful one, and that all the rest of you are well. Apparently I can just about manage an update about once a month-- now that I've said it, I hope I can stuck to it! I don't watch Agents of SHIELD but there's a turn of phrase from the show that turns up here, just because it annoyed me when I heard of it. (I know! Imagine me, annoyed!) _
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _Keep in mind that all Lokis are biased observers. That's not to say they're necessarily always wrong, just… there is always the possibility their assumptions about people and situations are prejudiced, and readers are welcome to agree or disagree with them. (I know that readers already do so-- I just want to be clear that, yeah, I know readers are making their own judgements.)_

Loki considered knocking on the door of the conference room before he entered, but decided against it. Instead he simply pushed it open and walked in ahead of Annie. His shoulders and neck felt tight and he carried his head high, very much aware of the spectacle he had made of himself the last time he had been in this room and wrestling with fight-or-flight impulses that, at the moment, all seemed to lean firmly toward the latter option. 

"Hey, Loki," Nick Fury said casually. "Take a seat." The director gestured, and Loki glanced in the direction indicated, then gratefully walked around the conference table to sit beside his brother. Natasha got up and changed seats so that Annie could have the one next to Loki, and both Steve and Tony smiled a welcome at them.

"Welcome back," Tony said, and then returned his attention to the briefing.

"You're all recovered?" Fury asked.

"I am," Loki replied firmly. 

"And the other one?" Fury went on. 

"He is resting," Loki replied. He hesitated for a moment, exchanged a quick look with Annie, and went on, "He has… he has expressed an interest in assisting your-- our-- efforts against Doom."

"I'll take that under advisement," Fury said with a nod, his tone unreadable. Loki did not press him, nor did he look at the other Fury. 

Across the table, Stark made an incredulous noise. "What?" Fury said sharply, the sound of a man who has entirely exhausted his store of patience. Stark raised his hands, half in self-defence and half in a sort of apology. 

"Sorry. Really, I'm sorry, that just sort of slipped out. I… you guys keep saying he was controlled by someone else, and I guess you trust your information, it's just… if you'd seen him ranting about how freedom is a lie and it's simpler for us to just be ruled-- I mean, he made quite an impression. He definitely, _definitely_ looked like a guy who wanted to run all of us little ants as his own private ant farm. You weren't there, but I was, and it's still hard for me to get past the whole Asgardian Mussolini routine, honestly. What?"

Loki became aware the last remark was aimed at him, and also that his mouth had dropped open. 

"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, gathering his wits. The sense of _wrongness_ persisted, and he leaned forward a little to address Stark. "If I understand you aright, and please do feel free to correct me since I have after all only heard the story in bits and pieces-- " Stark and Rogers both flinched a little, and Loki, vicious creature that he was, permitted himself to feel a little unworthy satisfaction at the sight, which at least smothered the rush of anxiety he felt whenever he tried to remember his time in the other reality-- "the other Loki arrived on Midgard intent upon conquest, on enslaving humanity and compelling all of you to live tightly circumscribed lives under his direction, without free will or the ability to make choices and decisions for yourselves?" 

"Yes," said the second Nick Fury, the expression on his face confirming for certain that he was the Fury who had first-hand experience of what the other Loki had done. 

"It is therefore understandable that you would have doubts. But-- Loki is a character in human mythology, yes?"

"Yes," Stark agreed, looking suspicious. 

"Yes," Romanov chimed in. Her cool expression did not change, but Loki was extremely sensitive to mood, and he received the impression she was, in some subtle way, on his side. The awareness was somehow steadying, even with his own friends present in the room-- _these other Avengers were not so different, not completely alien, after all._

"Well, what is known of this character?" Without waiting for an answer-- though he could of course have gained valuable teaching experience had he worked to guide the false _(not false, different)_ Avengers around to his own conclusions-- Loki went on, "He is known as the god of mischief, yes? An agent of chaos and discord-- one who, by challenging the gods of the Norse people, helps in their mythology to bring about necessary change, even the destruction of the old world to make way for the new?" He looked directly at Romanov, and then at Banner, as he spoke-- something told him those were the two most likely to have read the relevant myths. 

"Yes, that's about it," Banner agreed, and fortunately looked interested rather than annoyed. 

"Well, then, what about all this suggests a being who would care to _make the trains run on time?"_ Loki demanded, enjoying the flicker of surprise on Banner's face as he recited the classic description of the Fascist leader's accomplishments. Of course he knew of Mussolini, did he not live in Britain? 

Before he could become annoyed-- _again--_ at these Avengers, he went on, 

"Surely one of you must have thought, _hmm, what strange priorities for the god of chaos._ Having once gone mad myself I can assure you that I was more than capable of destruction and devastation, but it certainly would never have occurred to me to try and _organize people's lives for them._ That alone should have suggested there was something peculiar going on. It would have made far more sense for such a creature to assert that _freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."_

By this time, of course, the other Avengers really should not have looked so dumbfounded at evidence of Loki's acculturation to Midgard, but everyone except Rogers-- who certainly had no idea that it was a quotation-- did. Really, Loki thought in irritation, the bard who had written that song was called _Kris Son of Kristoffer._ If Loki was to know any of the singers of this realm, this would indeed be the one.

Barton's face annoyed him most of all, since of course it was Barton, along with Mitchell, who had introduced him to Kris Kristoffer's Son in the first place. 

Stark, rallying slightly, pointed out, "But we didn't actually know the other Loki, now did we?" 

_"You_ did not," Loki agreed, turning a hard glance on the Thor who was not his brother. The other Thor looked away first. Loki returned his attention to Stark and went on, "You may perhaps find it understandable that he is willing to assist you in thwarting the schemes of Dr. Doom, given the way Doom sought to make use of him." This time he did not look at the other Thor as he said, "Considering how being under the control of others has apparently worked out for him so far, that is hardly something he would be apt to take lightly."

"Okay," Stark muttered, finally looking abashed. Deciding he had made the point about as clearly as he needed to, Loki let the matter drop. He folded his hands on the tabletop before him and looked at Director Fury with the expression of an interested pupil preparing to receive instruction. 

Or with the expression of some infant miscreant hoping to deceive the teacher as to his mischievous intent, but there was no need to go into that right now. 

And the moment he focused properly on the monitor at the front of the room, Loki found his attention entirely captured. 

"Where did these images come from?" he asked. Demanded, really-- absently, Loki was aware of a metallic edge to his voice as it dropped to the bottom of its register. 

"Agent Romanov photographed them, while you were distracting Doom and the vampire," Fury replied. He did not sound at all intimidated, but gestured toward the agent in charge of the computer, who obligingly cycled through the images for Loki's benefit, pausing for a longer time on those depicting British institutions. Loki was too old a hand at manipulation himself to be unaware what the agent was up to, but that was of little consequence-- he hardly needed to be manipulated into defending _his own home._

Pushing back his chair, Loki rose and stalked toward the large monitor. His heart was pounding so hard he was nearly deafened by the sound of his own blood in his ears, but he did not think anyone spoke as he studied the plans of the Palace of Westminster. When he turned back, he was aware of Fury's air of expectation. 

Loki was a creature born to confound and disappoint those around him, but this time he looked directly at Fury and announced, "I will go to London, and there assist Clint and my friends to defeat the vampires."

"What, all by yourself?" Stark blurted. 

Loki smiled-- and he thought it probably was a most unpleasant smile-- but Fury was characteristically unmoved. And then, because he knew the other Avengers probably still instinctively assumed the worst of him, he deliberately gentled his smile and quoted, 

_"Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."_ He turned back to Director Fury. "My particular strengths-- magic and sneakiness-- make me an ideal choice to oppose the vampires. I am confident we will be able to think of something-- and there may be powers in the city of London which can assist me. In the meantime, I assume your agency is also arranging to defend against further Doombot attacks in your own country?" 

Fury nodded, and Bruce, who had been looking thoughtful this whole time, asked, 

"Does anyone know how he got the Doombots into the US in the first place? Or how many other bases he might have scattered around?"

That, Loki acknowledged, was an extremely good question. When the Dire Wraiths attacked Midgard last summer they had rained down terror and destruction from above. The method had indeed struck fear into the innocent human populace, but had also meant the defenders could see the attacks coming and defend against them. This business of Doombots appearing from the mountains so near their target was cause for concern: if Doom had other strategically-located secret bases from which his mechanical servants might stage their attacks, it was possible that defenders would have very little time to get into position to fight them off. 

Fury was addressing Banner's questions. 

"The agents investigating the incident in New Mexico--" Loki steeled himself not to react guiltily, since of course this particular _incident in New Mexico_ was not of his doing-- "reported they've been unable to locate whatever base the Doombots came from. They keep getting distracted." 

_"Distracted?"_ Banner echoed, startled. From the looks on the other faces around the table it was apparent he spoke for almost everyone.

"Yeah," Fury replied. "The Albuquerque office sent a team to search the mountains in the vicinity the bots first appeared. They maintained radio contact with a base team at Dr. Foster's research station, and it seems they kept getting confused, needing to be reminded of their assignment and redirected back toward the area they were supposed to be searching. That sound like magic to you, Loki?"

"Yes," Loki agreed. "A fairly elementary but extremely useful spell. I assume the effects were only felt in particular areas?"

Fury nodded. "Once they figured out what was happening, the team was able to plot the general perimeter of the affected area, by staying in radio contact with the base team so it was clear when they forgot what they were supposed to be doing."

"So the spell was supposed to confuse people?" Barton asked. 

"It was most probably intended to make them go away," Loki replied. "Ordinary hikers, for instance, would simply choose a different route and probably never wonder why they had done so. It would be worth trying to find out whether any locals have reason to be in that part of the mountains, though I suspect Doom would have chosen his site very carefully. The only reason your team realized there was anything happening was because they were specifically looking for the Doombot base at the time, and there was someone at a safe distance to notice their behaviour. This sort of redirection spell is a fairly common method of protecting a secret location without revealing the fact there is indeed something being protected."

"That's a lot more subtle than rhinoceroses," Annie noted. 

"Well, you must concede that rhinoceroses are far more entertaining," Loki argued, pretending not to notice the expressions on the faces of the Other-Avengers. "Also, of course, the rhinoceroses were intended as a show of power in the first place. I would not have credited Doom with much subtlety, but of course a spell of this nature is an ideal choice.

"And that, of course, means that, if he has been patient and judicious with his magic, he might easily have created many such bases, with waiting Doombots, almost anywhere."

"Great," Tony murmured.

"Can you identify magic like that?" Fury asked. Loki made a helpless palms-up gesture in reply. 

"I believe I could, supposing I happened to be in the vicinity. But the intelligence gathered by Agent Romanov suggests several possible locations for such bases-- and it seems most likely there is one in _each_ of those locations. I cannot be in so many places at once, and the practical matter of travel is also difficult." 

Once again, Loki felt a stab of guilt that he had never learned to navigate through Yggdrasil by means of Midgardian map coordinates. London he thought he could manage, given his familiarity with England and the chance the realm itself might offer him assistance. 

Possibly, of course, the witches would be able to help defend their home. Which reminded him--

"What about Dr. Strange?" he suggested. "Perhaps he could assist?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he could, if we could find him," Fury replied dryly. "Okay. You-- you two-- " he amended, with a glance at Annie-- "can go to London. I'll contact Barton and let him know to expect you. Everyone else will head for New York and Washington. We'll get you connected to our communications network before you go."

"Very well," Loki agreed. 

~oOo~

_The Old Ones had arrived._

Geoff couldn't deny the announcement gave him a shiver of combined fear, excitement, and a strange little thrill of anticipation: apart from Ivan, he'd never met an Old One, never been in a room with one, and he'd been a vampire for nearly eighty years. It was, he supposed, rather similar to the way he'd been British for close to a hundred years and had never been closer to royalty than being part of the crowds outside Westminster Abbey when George VI was crowned. 

He'd tried to tell himself that such things didn't impress him, but of course he was lying: a weakling such as himself could hardly help being impressed by the sheer power wielded by the Old Ones. Which didn't mean he agreed with the uses to which that power was about to be put, or have any illusions about himself as anything except cannon fodder for the more powerful vampires. 

That was, in fact, at the root of his support for Ivan: Ivan's lack of interest in conquest had nothing to do with concern for humans, and everything to do with not wanting to expose his community to danger. A quiet life and a long one, Ivan had said. That was all right with Geoff. 

As he deleted a text conversation from his mobile, Geoff reflected that Ivan was right. Geoff knew humans. He'd _been_ human, and eighty years as a so-called superior creature wasn't nearly long enough for him to forget what humans were capable of if they believed themselves threatened. Not even the Old Ones, in his opinion, would be enough to turn the tide permanently in the vampires' favour. There were simply too many humans, with too many weapons. 

In the meantime, however… the Old Ones were here. 

Not all of them, mind. They had better sense than to travel in a group that would put the lot of them in danger if something went wrong. Geoff reckoned that much caution on the Old Ones' part should make the rest of them think twice, but so far it hadn't. 

The Old Ones were arriving-- two or three of them were in London already, Wyndham was on his way back to England, and the Bristol vampires were going _en masse_ to meet them. Since he didn't have a car Geoff was traveling by train from Temple Meads to Paddington, and would make his way to the rendezvous by Underground. He wasn't bothered by this, even the necessity of paying for his own ticket, although he did find it just a tiny bit funny that Seth's so-called invincible army had to make its own arrangements for transportation. He was used to sneaking, that was how he'd survived eighty years as a vampire in the first place, but the past few hours had been stressful enough he was grateful not to have to spend another couple in the close quarters of a car with three or four true believers. 

The thought was cut short when someone sat down in the seat beside him. He stuffed his mobile back into his pocket, looked up-- and there was Cara. _Christ, she was creepy even for the undead._

After one quick flinch, he was back in control of himself-- he even managed to keep himself from reaching into his other pocket to feel for the protective amulet.

"Not traveling with Seth?" he asked, rather nastily, on the principle of getting his knocks in first. 

Cara smiled, just as nastily, the expression unsettling on her round, foolish face. Geoff reminded himself that just because Cara wasn't smart didn't mean she wasn't cunning. 

"I thought I might keep an eye on you," she replied. "You were never one of Herrick's chosen ones--"

_Neither were you,_ Geoff restrained himself from saying. 

"-- and I don't think you can be trusted." 

And just like that, the scales tipped back in Geoff's favour. He smiled at her, pitying instead of defensive. 

"Cara, if you've been a vampire this long and you haven't learned _you can't trust anyone,_ you probably won't last very much longer no matter what I do." Deliberately, he turned his shoulder to her and looked out the window at the darkness passing by. 

~oOo~

"What is it?" Daisy asked. Ivan silently handed over his mobile, and Daisy read the message from Geoff. When she looked up her eyes were anxious. "You're not going after them?"

Ivan sighed. "Of course I am."

"This leadership business-- " Daisy began, bitterly.

"Yes," Ivan cut her off sharply, which was so unusual for him that Daisy fell silent. Ivan gestured in frustration. "Obviously I'd rather not take any serious risks myself, but-- the whole point of my taking charge was to make sure nothing like this happened. Those fools are going to get the lot of us killed unless somebody does something-- and right now, _somebody_ means me." He glanced over at the witches. "I don't suppose that concerns you overmuch? What happens to the vampires?"

"Not much," Catherine agreed. "But the humans who are going to be hurt in the fallout? They concern us."

Ivan smiled crookedly. "Not quite 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' but close enough?" he suggested. 

"Something like that," Catherine agreed, and looked at Agnes. "Shall we go?" 

~oOo~

Loki forced himself to finish his meal, despite the fact it now tasted to him like paste. Coulson and the women, even the chatterbox Darcy, had more or less fallen silent in response to his mood. 

_This could be your second chance._

Agent Coulson did not mean that an act of heroism now would negate his prior actions, even if Loki was capable of such a thing. But Coulson-- and Jane Foster, and Pepper Potts-- seemed to think that simply changing his ways would be a beginning. Loki had his doubts about that… but if they were to be trusted _(and they were, certainly more than he)_ then the other Loki had also begun by changing his ways. 

It was not that he wished for the life of the other Loki-- he had little desire to be _tame_ \-- but it could not be denied that the other Loki seemed at least to live in a manner of his own choosing, in a way that suited him. That much, he thought, would be welcome. That much, he would wish for.

Pushing his nearly-empty plate aside, Loki looked up and addressed Agent Coulson:

"You should join the others. They will want your assistance with this matter."

Coulson turned a level look upon him, one that Loki sustained only with an effort.

"And what will you do, if I go join the others?" the agent asked. 

"I will accompany you," Loki replied, trying very hard to make it a statement, not a request. 

Coulson smiled faintly. "Sure you want to do that?"

"Yes," Loki insisted, but one did not have to know his reputation to realize he was lying. Of course he did not _want_ to do it, but he owed a debt to Annie and her friends, one that could be partially paid by action now. 

Besides, he had a score to settle with Doom-- and a bellyful of being a helpless pawn in the hands of another. Most of those who had treated him thus were out of his reach _(or were valued allies)_ but Doom was not, and Doom would pay for all of them.

Jane Foster was looking at him most earnestly, and if her large brown eyes were not as dark as Annie's, well, they were nearly as kind. 

"Our Avengers will look out for you," she assured him. Loki was unfamiliar with the idiom, but he was able to work out its meaning. Smiling rather anxiously, she went on, "You don't need to be nervous of our Thor." 

"So everyone continually tells me," Loki replied drily, but managed to smile at her. "I-- thank you. Your concern is appreciated." He turned back to Agent Coulson. "Shall we go?"

~oOo~

It seemed like the door had just closed behind Annie and Loki when Coulson came in, bringing Loki back again. And then, of course, Tony recognized his mistake: it was the other Loki, sticking close to Coulson but doing his best to maintain his cool, distant expression. Strangely, it made him look younger. It made him look like _their_ Loki, at least a little bit. 

Tony was perfectly aware that Loki-- their Loki-- was more than nine hundred years old and it was silly to relate to him as though he was the whole team's baby brother… but nobody ever said Tony, or any other human, made sense. And despite the possibility _this_ Loki wouldn't exactly welcome overtures from him or any other Avenger, Tony found himself raising a hand in automatic welcome. Beside him, Steve did the same thing. 

And maybe it was just his imagination, but Loki's expression-- or rather, his face _behind_ his expression-- seemed to ease ever so slightly as he nodded back. 

Coulson, in a gesture that wasn't nearly as casual as it looked, directed Loki toward an empty chair, one that _coincidentally_ happened to be nearest the door, with a direct line of escape if necessary. Tony, who after Afghanistan had spent most of the next two years obsessively checking his own position in relation to exits, at least when he wasn't in the suit, mentally saluted Coulson. 

And then, in the interests of everyone else's safety, he glanced around to see how the two Thors were taking this. The real Thor, predictably, looked concerned, while Othor looked-- well, he kind of looked like he needed more fibre in his diet, to be honest. Which didn't necessarily mean anything, since as far as Tony could tell that was his normal expression, or at least he hadn't seen much of an emotional range from the guy so far. New-Loki didn't look toward his brother, but it was easy to tell he was alert for aggression from that direction. 

Tony had no idea how Othor felt about this state of affairs, but he personally thought it was sad as hell. 

Coulson calmly appropriated a chair and placed it next to New-Loki, positioning himself as if to cover Loki's escape if he made for the door. Then he looked around. 

"Where are Annie and Loki?" he asked. 

Strictly speaking, that was a question for Fury, but Natasha leaned an elbow on the conference table and spoke up:

"They're with the communications department, getting wired up so they can stay in touch while they're helping out against the vampires in London." Unexpectedly, New-Loki suddenly looked alert, fidgeted as if he'd suddenly had a thought. Natasha turned toward him. "Anything you want to add, Loki?" 

It was pretty clear he didn't actually _want_ to speak up, but Loki did anyway. Tony was reminded of the way he'd behaved back at the house, when he had the vision of Doombots and immediately came to tell the Avengers about it: there was a weird sense of obligation here, apart from the understandable self-interest. 

At the same time, though, he was reluctant about something. Maybe it was just speaking up in front of the Extravengers-- especially his brother. Whatever it was, New-Loki cut a glance at Coulson, and then Steve leaned forward. 

"What is it?" he asked, with that little frown of concentration that luckily could never be mistaken for anything but concern. Back at the house, Tony had the feeling New-Loki was starting to respond to Natasha and Steve, and maybe the fact they'd helped rescue him had also made an impact. Whatever the reason, Loki squared his shoulders nervously and said, 

"They have powers. The vampires. To, to affect the will of-- " He was suddenly having trouble getting his words out, and seemed to be making a point not to look at the Extravengers. It was understandable that he wouldn't want to talk about what had been done to him, but there seemed to be something else there as well. 

Tony was just remembering that New-Loki had apparently done some mind-controlling of his own when Steve said calmly, 

"Yes, Mitchell showed us. We know that vampires can influence the minds of humans."

"Do you mean they can affect _you?"_ Natasha cut in. New-Loki nodded once. "Okay. Mitchell did say that might be possible, that a really powerful vampire might be able to affect the other Loki, in spite of his magic. We know that Edgar Wyndham, the vampire working with Doom, is one of those especially powerful vampires. It does make sense, all things considered, that he'd have an effect on you. The other Loki knows about the danger, so he'll be careful."

"All things considered," Banner repeated, looking interested. "You mean with his powers weakened?"

It was apparent from his face how much he enjoyed being talked about as if he wasn't there-- or reminded of his current weakness-- but Loki kept quiet while Natasha answered. Just based on Othor's behaviour so far, Tony thought Loki might be used to this kind of thing. Natasha's tone was matter-of-fact but there was a hint of apology in the look she gave him before she answered:

"And considering he'd already been… influenced… by someone else, earlier. Remember Mitchell telling us that it's progressively easier to control someone who's been under control before? I know the powers involved are different, but it probably helped Wyndham get a foothold. And neither of those factors apply to the other Loki."

Which made sense, and should have been the end of it. But of course it wasn't, because Othor-- who had, come to think of it, been ominously silent all this time-- suddenly spoke up:

"It should not have applied to _this one,_ either."

Of all the things Tony could find to object to about that speech-- beginning with its timing-- what bothered him most, he realized, was the way Othor continued to talk around his brother as if he wasn't there. New-Loki didn't look surprised, but anger was visible, simmering behind his controlled expression. 

Tony glanced at Fury, but before the director-- either version-- could say anything, Steve spoke up:

"I'm sure he'd prefer that, too." Tony was startled by the snap in his voice-- when Thor wasn't around Steve was generally the biggest, strongest guy in the room, and also the one who got randomly approached by star-struck little kids. As a result, he'd had a lot of practice controlling himself so as not to accidentally intimidate anyone. If anything, in Tony's opinion, Steve was sometimes a little bit _too_ reasonable. 

As a result he'd almost forgotten his dad's stories about Steve in the old days, when Howard (after a few drinks) would talk about Captain America and Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos during the war. Tony, always small for his age himself, especially loved when Howard told him (well, talked in his presence, although sometimes he could persuade his father to actually _tell him a story)_ about Steve before the Super Soldier Serum, when he'd been an undersized, sickly, kid from Brooklyn who lost every fight against bullies but never stopped going after them because he thought it was the right thing to do. 

Tony hadn't thought about those stories in a very long time. And he'd almost forgotten that Steve had ever been a scrappy little guy with a short fuse. At this moment, though, facing the only guy in the room (apart from the Hulk) who could probably take him in a fight, you could sort of see the reckless streak.

"I'm sure he'd prefer it," Steve repeated, "but it doesn't sound like he was given much choice."

And, oh shit, Othor pushed back his chair and stood. 

"Because he was weak." 

Yeah, spoken like a guy who had never been completely helpless with no hope of bargain or escape. Tony had once been tortured by people who wanted him to make them a weapon. He'd made the first suit prototype instead-- but if his captors had figured out what he was doing in time to stop him? If he hadn't had Yinsen's support? If the suit hadn't worked and he'd been recaptured and they'd started again?

Hell yes, Tony would have broken. The only people who believed the righteous never break under torture were people who had never been tortured-- not past endurance, with no chance of relief or rescue. 

Fuck Othor and his fucking self-righteousness. 

Steve, who had _seen some things_ in those Hydra labs back during the war and who had probably dreamed about them during his seventy years in the ice, sneered. In spite of the fact his life was beginning to flash before his eyes, Tony was impressed. 

"Everything is simple to you, isn't it?" Steve demanded. 

"This is simple," Othor retorted, as the two Dr. Banners quietly got up and headed for the exit. New-Loki didn't even glance at them, because Othor was finally looking his way, leaning across the table toward him. Voice dripping with contempt, he growled, "You should have _died_ before bringing such disgrace upon Asgard." 

That was enough for Real-Thor, who shot to his feet and started forward. 

And then stopped in his tracks as New-Loki also stood, also leaned forward across the table, braced on his hands, face contorted. 

"Fool and son of a fool," he snarled, almost spitting in fury and frustration, _"do you think I did not try that?"_

And didn't that change the water on the beans.

~oOo~

_You don't need to be nervous of our Thor._

So Jane Foster had said, and Loki had responded with a bitter little half-jest. In truth, he had not needed the reassurance: he _knew_ the Thor of this reality meant him no harm. 

The other Thor, however…

Loki did not expect physical violence, not in the presence of all these other Avengers, Thor was at least no longer the berserker who slaughtered hundreds over an insult. But scorn, dismissal? That much was assured, and probably deserved. That did not mean Loki wished to experience it. 

He did not wish to experience it, but he thought it could be borne-- at least up to the moment Thor leaned across the table and uttered the final idiocy in a long career of idiotic utterances. _You should have died first._

The rage that swept through him was all-encompassing, almost cleansing. Part of it was, of course, the awareness that Thor's words represented both reality _(of course it would have been better if he had died rather than become a tool in the hands of those creatures)_ and Thor's own wishes _(how much simpler it would have been, if Loki had never emerged from the void.)_ Part of it was a far older, familiar anger at the golden prince who stood in the sun and never troubled himself to wonder what happened in his shadow. 

And part of his rage was born of the shivering memories he still tried to suppress. _When I woke,_ he had said to Coulson and Natasha Romanov. _When I recovered my senses._

As though he had merely been unconscious, had awakened of his own accord, instead of being dragged back--

Thor's face was everything in the universe as he suddenly lunged forward, braced on the table, and the truth finally spilled out.

_"Do you think I did not try that?"_

All he could see was Thor, who longed for glorious battles and, eventually, glorious death. He would never have imagined such a thing as this, the story that sprayed from Loki's lips like bile:

"The first death felt like a victory: I could not escape, but at least I died like a son of Asgard, without giving in. Imagine my feelings when my eyes opened and I found myself, not in the quiet reaches of Hel, but back in the same reeking chamber where my life had just ended.

"The _second_ time-- "

Across the table Barton, his face pale, cut in:

"You must have been unconscious. You can't have been dead."

Loki turned on him with a snarl. "A thousand years I was this fool's stooge, dealing death with him across the Nine Realms. _I know whereof I speak._ The _second_ time I died, I nearly escaped. Either they were not quite as quick, or they wanted me to know the despair of _almost_ tasting freedom, before being dragged back to the shattered husk they were not quite finished with.

"The _third_ time… that was when I knew death would not accept me and the last route of escape was closed. After that it was only a matter of time until I weakened enough to be manageable. _Useful."_ He uttered a sharp bark of laughter as a thought struck him. "I had ever been _useful,_ had a _purpose,_ served and followed _someone._ This vampire was not the first to bend my will to his, nor were the creatures of the void who broke my body and mind and sent me to do their bidding. _It was all I had ever known._ Of course I gave in. What else would I have done?"

Abruptly, the rage left him, and with it the strength to remain on his feet. Loki dropped back into the chair behind him, with a gesture like pushing everything away. 

"You," he addressed Thor, "would of course have endured an eternity of being tortured to death, and revived, and tortured to death once again. Weakling that I am, I lasted a bare few centuries and so earned your contempt. Very well, now I am unworthy to be your lackey I shall have to find my own way. And that way will _not_ encompass lowering myself to do the bidding of _anyone--_ whether you, your father, or this Doom of Midgard." He cut a sharp glance at Coulson, daring the man to say a word about _witches_ or _George,_ but Coulson was silent. Loki went on, "And if there is anything I can do anything to thwart Doom's plans, then I assure you I will willingly do it." 

No one spoke for the space of a long moment. Finally, Fury shrugged. 

"Glad we've got that cleared up. Welcome aboard, Loki."


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _The historical point discussed in this chapter is true, although of course my use of it is complete nonsense. Also, there is a nod or two to Being Human canon for anyone who cares to look._
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _None needed._

If the agent who escorted Loki and Annie to the communications centre was alarmed by the prospect of facing vampires or Doombots, she gave no sign. She led them down two decks and through a maze of corridors, then handed them off to the waiting communications boffins (for so they were called in the war movies Loki watched with his friends) and left them with a murmured "good luck." 

The said boffins equipped Loki with a communications device, offered Annie the same, and looked confused when she explained that it was unlikely to be of much use to her. Even so, she paid strict attention to the explanations of how the device worked. Loki was fairly competent with human technology-- which compared to its Aesir equivalents was not so much primitive as simply very different-- but he appreciated knowing that Annie could remind him how to use the wireless system if he forgot. 

After this, a uniformed guard (minus his helmet, which Loki appreciated) led the pair back up to a quiet corner of the flight deck. All was in darkness below them, and in a ship this large it was difficult to tell they were moving. Loki peered over the side, glad Thor was not here to see him so close to the edge, but was unable to tell whether they were over land or water. 

When he turned back to face Annie, he saw that she looked concerned. 

"Do you think you'll have any trouble getting to London?" she asked.

"It would be easier if we were down there," Loki admitted, gesturing at whatever was below the helicarrier. "Assuming 'down there' is not the sea. However-- we have paid visits to London in the fairly recent past, so I should be able to take us there without much difficulty, and then call on the others to come find us." Aware that he did not sound nearly sure enough for comfort, Loki added, "We can certainly climb into the branches of Yggdrasil from here. If I cannot easily find London, then I will take us to Asgard-- Asgard is impossible to miss-- and try again. Do not worry." 

"I wasn't exactly worried," Annie said. "It's just that you always say it's easier to find your way around if you begin from the soil of the realm you're on, and you're traveling between places you already know." 

"That is true, and I must work on other methods of navigation," Loki agreed. "But at the moment I am more annoyed by the fact my mobile is still in the pocket of my jacket. The one I loaned to the other Loki. I know we can use this new device to contact Clint, but I had rather call Mitchell or George."

"Oh wait, hang on-- I can probably find him, the other Loki, if he's still with Agent Coulson," Annie offered. Annie's gifts included the ability to locate and "jump" to her friends, at least over fairly short distances such as on this vessel. Loki assumed she was being tactful when she claimed to use Agent Coulson as her focus, when by now she must also be able to find the other Loki quite easily.

If Annie was being tactful, then Loki would not challenge her. And besides, he had a different question to ask her. 

"Would you be able to return carrying a solid item like my mobile?" he inquired. "I cannot recall whether you have ever done such a thing before."

Annie made a face. "I probably can't, now you mention it. I'll have to ask for an escort back."

"Or I could go with you," Loki offered. 

"Yes, or you could work on finding a route to someplace in London that the others will be able to find. Hang on, I'll be back as fast as I can." Annie took a step backward, frowned in concentration, and then vanished. 

Left behind, Loki took a moment to clear his mind and remind himself that jealousy was not only pointless, it was also an especially dangerous emotion for him. And besides, there was nothing for him to be jealous _of,_ Annie being intent upon her errand. 

He could almost hear, in the back of his head, the voice of George threatening to fetch the water bottle. He had no way of knowing how the other Loki reacted to the werewolf's imaginary scoldings, but Loki of Bristol found them very reassuring. 

Taking a deep breath, Loki allowed his mind to wander, let his consciousness catch hold of Yggdrasil and, phantom-like, float through its branches. He searched for a landmark in the city of London, some place he had physically visited, one that would be easy for the others to find when they came to meet him. A few months ago he and his friends had visited London for the purpose of Christmas shopping, and the others had made a point to show Loki some of the famous landmarks of the capital. His previous visits to London had been brief and spent either in legal (well, in fact, _illegal)_ custody or fighting alien invasion, and so he had little time to play the tourist until that latest trip.

Before his eyes rose a great plaza, brightly lit in the darkness, bordered by stairs leading to grand buildings, with fountains and a towering column guarded by statues of enormous lions. He could almost feel the stone beneath his feet, could almost see above him the figure of the great leader who bestrode the column. _This would do,_ he thought. _This would be easy for his friends to find._

The plaza was full of humans despite the hour (though in fact, while it felt to Loki like the middle of the night, he actually had no idea of the time of day) and the darkness. Seeing them served, as the play said, as a spur to prick the sides if his, Loki's, intent. Whatever the vampires were up to was bound to end in harm to a great many of these humans. Growing up in Asgard, Loki had been told the golden realm served as protector of the Nine Realms, but his feelings at this moment had nothing to do with his upbringing and everything to do with a personal sense of obligation. 

He _liked_ the personal sense of obligation, liked the feeling of owing service to the realm that had taken him in. He was entirely in sympathy with the other Loki's distaste for being _put to use_ like a tool-- shared it entirely-- but honest duty to a place and people who had welcomed him was another matter entirely. 

Very well. He was quite sure he could find his way there without difficulty, and so could the others. As soon as Annie returned, they would--

He felt the little rustle in the universe-- well, _his_ universe-- that heralded Annie's arrival, and she blinked into sight at his elbow. Before he could ask, she was extending her hand with his mobile in it. 

"Agent Coulson was in the conference room with the other Avengers," she reported. "And Loki. The other Loki," she added, as though he might think she meant him. 

"Really? But he said he did not wish to be near them," Loki argued-- foolishly, since whatever the other Loki had said, it was apparent he had done something else. And, thinking about it, Loki found he could easily picture the other Loki refusing to stand aside watching everyone else fight while he felt helpless-- _useless._

As noted, Loki objected in the strongest possible terms to anyone viewing or using him as an _implement,_ but he still wanted a role, a purpose of his own. He could understand the other Loki having similar feelings, and how they might conflict with his desire to stay as far from his brother, and his brother's companions, as possible. 

Rubbing his throat reminiscently, Loki reflected that the other Loki was probably quite familiar with that latter emotion. 

Annie's next words confirmed his thinking: 

"I don't think he's changed his mind about that. About being near them. It felt to me like there had been an awful blow-up just before I arrived, Loki and Thor were both all red-faced and breathing like they'd just been shouting." Loki winced along with her. "I didn't want to put my foot into it somehow, so I just asked for your mobile. Agent Coulson told Loki what I was looking for and he gave it to me. And then I rent-a-ghosted-- " she made a "here I am" gesture and handed over the mobile.

"So you were able to bring this with you?" Loki stated the obvious. 

"Yes, I thought I might as well try, so I folded it up in my sleeve and it worked," Annie explained, visibly brightening. 

"That was very clever of you," Loki congratulated her, extending his hand for the mobile. "And a most valuable power." His last call had been to George's mobile, so he selected that number and pressed the send button. A moment later, George picked up the call. 

~oOo~

Clint, George, and Mitchell kept alert as they walked back toward the car, but the sight of Scamp's eager little face peering out the rear window of the Honda reassured them. For one thing, it was nice to see the eager little face. For another, the fact it was an eager little face, and not a baleful snarling maw, pretty much confirmed there weren't any unfriendly vampires around. Which was why they'd left her in the car in the first place. 

George's mobile buzzed as Clint opened the car door. 

"It's Loki," George reported, lifting the device to his ear. "Loki? How are you?"

"Fine," Loki replied. George got into the back seat, screwing up his face in automatic reaction as Scamp washed it with her ghostly, chilly tongue. "I'm going to turn on the speaker so all of us can hear you, all right?" Loki made a noise of assent. "Go ahead-- what is it?"

"Annie and I are coming to join you," Loki announced. "The Avengers feel sure that attacks are planned on both New York and their capital city-- I beg your pardon, Clint, _your_ capital city-- and so they are making haste toward the United States in the helicarrier. Meanwhile, Annie and I thought we should come and offer you whatever assistance we can."

"Much appreciated," Clint said dryly. "Hundreds of vampires won't stand a chance against the five of us. How long will you take to get here and where will we meet?" 

"We will meet you in Trafalgar Square, on the steps of the-- " he paused, there was a one-sided mumble as he apparently consulted Annie-- "the National Gallery. We should be there-- it will take perhaps five minutes for us to climb through Yggdrasil. Where are you?"

"We're at Whitehall, not far from Downing Street, so we'll get there about the same time you do," Mitchell called from the driver's seat. He was already opening his door. Scamp jumped off George's lap and rushed to the rear door on that side, tail wagging anxiously. The first time they left her, Scamp had taken it quite well-- she might be a centuries-old ghost dog, but she still loved to ride in cars-- but it was pretty clear she didn't want to be left behind again. The fact that, as a ghost, she could easily escape from the car if she wanted to didn't seem to have occurred to her. 

"Did you hear that?" George asked, as he leaned over to open the car door and slide out after Scamp.

"I did," Loki confirmed. "We will see you shortly." The call disconnected from Loki's end. 

Scamp had acclimatized to riding in cars, but she still wasn't comfortable walking in crowds, and she clung to Mitchell's side as the group hurried toward Trafalgar Square. George thought that was just as well, since it masked the fact she wasn't on lead. Never having walked a dog in London, George had no idea how seriously the city authorities treated leash laws, but in his mind the less attention paid to their little ghost dog the better. 

As they crossed the still-crowded Square, Scamp's tail suddenly began to wag again, and she dashed forward as Loki and Annie stepped out of the air toward them. No one seemed to notice, Loki having apparently used one of his charms that caused humans to perceive them as always having been there. Clint, blinking and looking slightly disoriented, was apparently just as susceptible as anyone. Scamp, jumping happily up to welcome Annie, seemed unconcerned. 

"Good to see you two," George began, just as Mitchell's mobile buzzed. The vampire read the text, his face going pale and set. Loki made an unobtrusive gesture that probably resulted in the group being concealed by a charm of some sort, and they all waited for Mitchell to tell them what was happening. 

"Ivan," Mitchell explained briefly. "He's heard from Geoff. The Old Ones are starting to arrive in London, and he and the others are on their way to meet them. And Wyndham, he's apparently left Latveria and is on his way back. No idea how he's traveling so I don't know how long that will take. Ivan, Daisy, and the witches are leaving Bristol to come here as well."

Clint looked thoughtful. "Ivan say where the rendezvous is supposed to happen?"

Mitchell shook his head and began typing on his mobile. "It's possible Geoff hasn't told him, or doesn't know yet. I suppose one likely place is the old deep-level shelter under Whitechapel station, on the Hammersmith and District lines." 

Clint's eyes narrowed. "The what?"

George was shaking his head. "There was never a deep-level shelter built at Whitechapel." At Mitchell's expression, he faltered. "Wasn't there? Those aren't even deep lines, why would they have put a deep-level shelter there?"

Loki looked from George to Mitchell, then back to Clint and to Annie, who shrugged in confusion. Loki decided it was time he spoke.

"I think perhaps a short explanation would be in order, for those of us who lack your specific knowledge." 

Mitchell and George traded a look, then Mitchell made a "go ahead" gesture. George settled his spectacles upon his nose and said, 

"Back in the Blitz-- " Loki knew of the Blitz-- "during the air raids on London, a lot of people would spend nights in the tube stations, the ones far enough underground to feel safe from the bombs." Loki nodded, remembering images from history books and on television programs. George went on, "Ten deep shelters were planned, to be built alongside existing stations, with the idea the sites could be incorporated into new express lines after the war. I think only seven or eight of them were ever completed, and the express lines weren't built after all-- by the time the war ended the city couldn't afford the project. One of the shelters is a museum now, and the rest of them are used for storage and things like that. Anyway, the point is the shelters were all planned for the Central and Northern lines, which are deep underground. Hammersmith isn't, and neither is District-- they're just below the surface. It doesn't make sense to put a deep shelter there, it doesn't fit in with the plans for after the war."

Mitchell looked long-suffering. "George, you know the reason vampires have been able to hide in Bristol is because they have contacts in positions powerful enough to cover up for them? You don't really think London is any different, do you?"

Loki blinked as he realized what Mitchell meant, while George turned deep red and uttered a strangled noise. "You mean it was a special vampires-only shelter? You're serious?"

"Really?" Clint echoed. "I thought you guys could only be killed by a stake through the heart."

Mitchell grimaced. "Oh, getting blown to bits by a bomb would kill anyone, believe me. Yeah, Whitechapel was a shelter for vampires-- the location must have been someone's idea of a joke. Ivan probably knows about it, come to think-- I'm pretty sure he was in London during the war as well."

"Knows how to look after himself," George grumbled, apparently still incensed. "Typical vampire."

Mitchell glared. "George, we all know vampires are arseholes, but… think about it." 

"About what?" George snapped. Loki did think, and the conclusion he arrived at made him blanch. Annie, reaching the same conclusion, turned to George. 

"Think about an air raid shelter full of terrified humans… and vampires." 

George blinked, looking as though someone had struck him in the face. "Oh." 

"Yes," Mitchell said grimly. "I don't deny the self-interest, but it wasn't all on one side. And there were a few advantages to building a shelter solely intended for vampires."

"Such as?" Clint prompted. 

"Well, since vampires are technically already dead, we don't breathe, so there wasn't any need to worry about ventilation. That must have made the shelter easier than the others to build, and also meant it was never taken up for human use after the war. The entrance was hidden in the first place, and by now nobody except vampires knows about it."

Loki spoke up. "You said that Ivan was in London during the war 'as well.' As well as you, did you mean?"

Mitchell nodded. "Yeah. Herrick and I… used to spend a lot of time in London." 

None of them felt like talking about the period when Mitchell and Herrick had hunted together. Loki tried not to let his voice register that as he said, 

"And did you avail yourself of this shelter?" Loki pressed. When Mitchell nodded, Loki asked, "Do you remember how to find the entrance?"

"I think so," Mitchell admitted. "The trouble, though, is the ventilation. I don't imagine you or George or Clint could get down there without an oxygen bottle, and too many of them know me by sight." 

As one, the four men turned to Annie.

"Oh good," she said. "You haven't forgotten about me. You know, the other one who doesn't need to breathe because she's dead. And can become invisible."

"You can?" Clint asked, looking impressed. "You mean you can control it?" 

Annie nodded. "It turns out I have a few powers I didn't know about-- I just found out I can carry something with me when I rent-a-ghost."

"Oh yeah?" Now Clint looked very thoughtful. "How about a bomb? Could you carry a bomb? A little one?"

"No bombs," Mitchell snapped, stiffening. Clint raised his eyebrows, and Mitchell visibly controlled himself. "Even if I'm right and the shelter is the meeting place, they're likelier to gather in a series of small groups than all together at once-- vampires are careful that way, especially about things like secret entrances. You won't get the lot anyway. Besides, it's a big shelter. Even if they do all gather at once-- and they won't-- to be sure of killing everyone you'd need a blast powerful enough to involve the entire space, and that would probably bring down Whitechapel station as well, and a big stretch of the lines it serves." 

Judging by Clint's expression he was quite aware there was more to Mitchell's protest than such practicalities, but the practicalities were quite compelling. 

"And I'm not carrying a bomb," Annie added quickly, with a glance at Mitchell. "I'll go have a look around, but that's all."

"Fine," Clint said. "You do know we're not likely to get out of this without killing a few vampires, right?"

"I know," Mitchell said, looking away. Loki, at least, had little difficulty in reading his thoughts: combat was one thing, wholesale murder another. There was a time when Loki would have disagreed with his friend, but since that was when he had been criminally insane, his opinions did not deserve much consideration. 

George cleared his throat. "Charing Cross station isn't far from here. Let's go find out what line we need to get to Whitechapel, all right?"

"Good idea," Loki said quickly. Annie nodded her support for the plan and, with George in the lead, the group began to make their way to the station. 

~oOo~

Wyndham had to admit, if only to himself, that Doom's methods of magical transport were extremely convenient. Particularly when his own position rather depended on staying ahead of the other Old Ones. 

Wyndham had not been the first of the Old Ones to propose a partnership like this one, but so far as he knew he was the first to actually follow through on the idea. He was still confident of being able to dispose of Doom when his usefulness was at an end. A far more pressing concern, one that became sharper with every setback, was the issue of how long the other Old Ones would remain patient with this experiment. Wyndham had counted on having made significant gains by this point, and now they did not even have the captive sorcerer to point to.

Up to this point he had been able, for the most part, to suppress his increasingly uneasy feelings about this alliance-- and his own role in advocating for it-- but now he could no longer ignore them. The other Old Ones would have much to say about his handling of this matter, and blaming Doom would only get him so far. 

The only solution he could see was to take decisive action.

Now, before the others had a chance to step in and take over.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _I've looked up schedules for the various relevant Underground lines, but for purposes of the story we're ignoring them. I'll take it up with the train drivers' union at a later date._
> 
>  ** _Warnings:_** _None needed._

In the end it was Annie, Loki, and Scamp who travelled to Whitechapel by tube. Clint remembered the car at the last minute and the friends agreed they might need it again. Mitchell, who of course knew the city, accompanied Clint to act as navigator. George joined them, since he had no idea how to find the entrance to the vampires' bomb shelter and felt Annie and Loki (and Scamp) would travel more easily without him. 

They briefly considered whether the whole group should go together by car, but the small possibility of being held up by traffic-- or ambush by vampires-- made them decide splitting up was in this case the best plan. If something happened to one group, the others could carry on.

Although he made sincere efforts to follow the laws and customs of his adopted home, in this instance Loki felt almost justified in his decision to apply a little judicious magic to the matter of getting onto the platform to catch the appropriate train. There was no Underground in Bristol and he found the whole business of tickets and turnstiles confusing. Besides in order to get the dog on the train it was necessary either for Annie to make use of her power of invisibility-- apparently owing to the strong connection between the two, Scamp's visibility was linked to Annie's-- or for Loki to place a glamour over all of them. They chose the second option. 

At this hour the train was nearly deserted, as was the station when they arrived. Annie led the way from the platform to the station, where they proposed to wait for the others so that Mitchell could direct them to the entrance of the shelter. 

This was the plan, which they fully intended to follow. However, as they emerged from the station, still wrapped in the glamour to wait outside for the others, Scamp pricked her ears and began to growl. 

The little dog was uniformly friendly to humans, which was probably influenced in equal part by her own personality and by the fact that, as a Church Grim, she was bound to protect humans from supernatural threats. Loki was not blind to the irony of her state, since she had become a Grim in the first place as the result of an act of cruelty by human agents. Those humans and their superstitions had of course been dead for centuries, so by now the humans Scamp encountered were truly deserving of her protection. The point, of course, was that Scamp was not growling at a human. There had to be supernatural creatures nearby, and they must be up to no good. 

Annie crouched to lay a hand on Scamp's back, which the dog fortunately seemed to take as both reassurance and restraint. The growling subsided and she did not change shape, though-- after a quick glance and wriggle toward Annie-- her ears and tail remained alert. Meanwhile, both Annie and Loki looked around to see who or what she was reacting to. 

A man and woman were approaching the station, both of them dressed as if they were bound for their jobs in some office. Had it been some three hours later, they would have been inconspicuous commuters. However, at this time of night the only people abroad were likelier to be employed at cleaning or guarding those offices than… whatever mysterious functions men and women like Pepper Potts performed in the world of "business." 

This would have been a minor anomaly, had it not been for Scamp's obvious hostility. Whatever the pair were, they were not human. Under the circumstances Loki felt justified in assuming they were vampires. He glanced at Annie, who stood up with Scamp in her arms, and both of them stepped back into the station as the man and woman entered. 

There happened to be no one else in the station at this moment, but if there had been Loki suspected the man and woman would still have gone unremarked: he was aware of a sort of _push_ from the two of them. It was an almost physical power, one whose general signature he recognized from his experience reviving Ivan and which seemed intended to direct the attention of passersby away from the vampires. Mitchell had never displayed or mentioned possessing such an ability, which surely by now he would have done. Therefore, tentatively, Loki concluded this might be one of the additional powers developed by Old Ones. 

It was certainly impressive: had Loki not possessed considerable powers of his own, he would surely have walked right past the two without noticing them at all. It was an unnerving reminder both of the strength of this foe, and of the fact his own powers were still recovering from both his experiences in the other reality and also the Smaug incident. 

Well, as the humans would say, there was nothing else for it, he must carry on. He glanced over at Annie, to see how she the vampires were affecting her. She looked anxious and curious, but not at all as though she was fighting off mind altering powers. 

There was not time to stop and ponder that idea, and besides it took most of his concentration to maintain focus on the vampires. Annie crept forward, one hand firmly around Scamp's muzzle to emphasize the idea of remaining quiet, and Loki followed her. The vampires gave no sign of noticing them or the glamour, which was encouraging. In Loki's experience, Midgardian supernatural beings recognized one another, but only witches seemed able to recognize Loki as a sorcerer. He had worried the Old Ones' extra powers might include the ability to sense his magic.

The woman stepped forward and opened what Loki had assumed was the door to a storage closet. And indeed it _was_ a door to a storage closet, but the woman pressed some hidden latch and a second door opened in the back wall. She passed through it, and the male vampire closed the outer door before, presumably, following.

Annie turned to Loki. "I'll go after them," she whispered. "You wait here for the others."

And then she was bundling Scamp into his arms and vanishing through the door of the storage closet. 

~oOo~

One thing about vampires that you'd never know from living with Mitchell: even when they believed they were alone, they moved really bloody quietly. Annie thought of Mitchell clattering down the stairs of the pink house and wondered how much practice it had taken for him to learn to move so carelessly, as though at ease in their home. 

The thought it might be an act, or at least had been one in the beginning, gave Annie a little twist of guilt in her heart. In the early days of the household they three had all been so busy coping with their own problems and anxieties and guilt and grief that they had very little energy left to consider each other's burdens, and their own had been mostly carried alone. 

Which, she supposed, was ironic since the whole point of the house was so they _wouldn't_ be alone, but in the early days togetherness had been more of an illusion than any of them wanted to admit. They had wanted the family, but hadn't really known how to go about creating it. 

The illusion hadn't been perfect, but it had felt nice. And it had certainly fooled Loki, when he crashed into their dustbins. It occurred to Annie that everyone who lived in the pink house had been building toward some sort of crisis, which in Mitchell's-- and maybe George's-- case could have been catastrophic to a lot of innocent bystanders. Loki, when he arrived, had still been experiencing the aftermath of his own crisis (and the accompanying catastrophe to the innocent.) He'd lost everything, including his layers of protection-- Annie was very glad she hadn't seen the defensive shell until after she'd learned what he kept hidden behind it-- and had, for those first weeks, just been himself. Or at least whatever was left of himself just then. 

It was probably the first time since Annie moved into the pink house that anyone who lived there had been completely honest about anything. Which was pretty ironic when you considered the whole _God of Lies_ thing, but it seemed as if helping Loki deal with his… _issues_ … had in some ways helped them all at least acknowledge their own. It was as if they'd needed for someone to go first. 

None of which Annie normally thought about very much, but at the moment, creeping down the rusty iron stairwell in total darkness, she felt a sudden rush of gratitude that it wasn't Mitchell up there in front of her. That he had gotten away from the other vampires and found something else to… to really belong to. 

And then, far down below in the darkness, she saw the glow of a tiny point of light. Annie froze on the stairs, automatically crouching down before remembering she was invisible. _Really_ invisible, not just to humans the way she'd been in the early days: when she'd used this new power in Doom's castle, neither he nor Wyndham had been able to see her. Of course, even if these two spotted her it wasn't like they could do very much to her, not already dead as she was. But she didn't want to alert them to the fact someone was onto them. And she certainly didn't want them to mind-control her and make her use her poltergeist powers against her friends.

Carefully straightening, Annie put out an automatic hand for the guardrail and continued on her careful way down the stairwell. When she reached the bottom she found herself in a sort of entryway, where a steel door stood open, leading into the actual bomb shelter. Keeping close to the walls, Annie sidled through the open doorway and into the space beyond it, where the light was. 

At first, all she could see was the point of light, far away to her right as she peered into the shelter. In common with her friends, Annie had excellent night vision, and before long her eyes adjusted. She found herself looking down a long tunnel, about the same size and shape as what was visible of an Underground tunnel when you stood on the platform. She supposed this made sense: if the other deep-level shelters were originally intended to be incorporated into express lines after the war, then they would have been built on the same plan as existing tunnels. The vampire bomb shelter had never been intended as anything except a bomb shelter for vampires, but it made sense that the builders had just done the same thing here.

Annie chose not to think too hard about exactly _how_ this construction had been kept secret. It did cross her mind the rubble left behind after an air raid would have been an excellent place to conceal a few extra bodies. 

As far as she could tell the bomb shelter/meeting room was a long and fairly narrow tunnel, like a giant pipe split lengthwise. As she looked along the pipe she could see chairs outlined against the glow from what looked to be a camping lantern, and a few metal-framed bunks. There were some other indeterminate shapes that might have been more furniture or cabinets, it was hard to tell. It wasn't a particularly comfortable space, but she supposed the vampires didn't use this secret clubhouse very often. Still, it would be a handy thing to have when they really needed it. 

There was the faintest of sounds from above, a tiny creak from the old metal staircase. Annie darted forward a few steps, then ducked down again between two of the old bunks, so she felt screened from both the vampires with the lantern and those coming to join them. Invisible or not, Annie couldn't overcome the instinct to hide from these creatures. 

_I'm already dead, I'm already dead,_ she chanted in her mind, holding onto the sensation of being invisible and fighting against the urge to rent-a-ghost back upstairs to Loki. 

Annie had scarcely been able to hear the sound from the staircase, but the two vampires looked around sharply. Their sense of hearing was as sharp as their night vision. Or maybe, Annie thought uncomfortably, they could _smell_ the other vampires. The woman stepped forward and was waiting when a small group came through the open steel door. Annie counted five of them, three men and two women, all of them dressed for a business meeting. 

Which, she supposed, was exactly what they were planning to attend. 

As they walked past her hiding place Annie looked hard for Seth, the only Bristol vampire she thought she would recognize and who she supposed would be part of the… welcoming committee. None of the men looked familiar to her. 

It turned out Annie wasn't the only person wondering about that. 

"Where are they?" demanded the woman who had been in the first pair to arrive. 

"There's no sign of them," replied one of the newcomers, the oldest-looking of the men. 

The woman cursed quietly and turned to her male companion. "Has Wyndham been in touch with you yet?"

The man reached into his pocket and drew out a mobile. Almost involuntarily, Annie leaned forward as he consulted it. "Nothing." 

"Give him a little longer," counselled another of the newcomers, one of the women. There was some muttering, but the arrival of three more vampires distracted them. 

Annie sat cross-legged in her hiding place, listening while the vampires talked. She had expected to gather intelligence about their plans, but now it seemed their plans were going wrong. Obviously she was pleased about that, but as long as she was the official spy for their group, she wanted to find out everything she could. 

She also cast her eyes around the room, looking at the bunks and other furniture, as a plan began to form in her mind. Meanwhile another group of vampires came in, so there were about a dozen well-dressed vampires standing around waiting for something. Annie wondered what, but she didn't have to wonder for long. 

"They're not coming," one of the male vampires said, glancing down at the mobile in his hand-- Annie couldn't tell if he was checking the time, or for messages. Probably the time, given his next words: "The tube stopped running fifteen minutes ago. If they were coming, they'd be here by now. Something's wrong."

"Either Wyndham's betrayed us or something's happened," one of the women spoke up.

"If _something happened,_ Wyndham should have let one of us know," was the reply, almost in a growl, from another of the men. Annie was glad she was already dead, and even gladder she wasn't Wyndham. The mood in the shelter was getting uglier by the minute, a nasty combination of anger, hunger, and fear. The fear confused Annie a little-- what did vampires this powerful have to be afraid of?

"What are we going to tell Mr. Snow?" someone asked, in a tone that immediately explained the fear. Whoever Mr. Snow was, it seemed like a very good idea to make sure nobody told him anything. 

Annie came to a decision and rent-a-ghosted back up to the pavement outside the station. 

Loki's glamours didn't fool Annie at all-- apparently you needed to be alive, or maybe have a corporeal form, for the trick to work on you. Or maybe Loki was really specific about his spells and left a loophole for his friends. Or, well, Annie. Regardless, as she landed on the pavement she looked around for Loki and spotted him at once, standing back in a doorway with the boys, Scamp, and Clint. Annie dashed up to them, close enough to be inside whatever glamour surrounded them, and let go of her own invisibility. 

And, okay, it was wrong of her, but she enjoyed the little jump of surprise that Clint couldn't quite suppress. Even so, she kept to the point:

"The Old Ones are down there and it looks like something's gone wrong with their plans. They expected someone-- the Bristol vampires, I guess, or anyway their leaders-- and Wyndham to be here by now, and they aren't."

"No," Mitchell agreed. "We've noticed that. I didn't recognize any of the vampires who went down the shelter."

"So they think he's double-crossed them," said Annie. "Wyndham. And they're afraid to tell Mr. Snow. So whoever Mr. Snow is, he must be the boss."

"Yes," Loki agreed. "I am sorry, Annie, he was discussed while you were in Latveria."

"Okay, so I think this is all the Old Ones who are coming, apart from Mr. Snow," Annie said rapidly, "and I have a plan to trap them. Loki, come with me."

"What are the chances I could take them down before they get out of the shelter?" Clint asked. 

"Zero," Mitchell replied sharply. _"I_ could mind-control you, remember? You might be able to take out one or two of them before they overpowered you but that's about all."

Clint looked unconvinced, and Loki spoke quickly:

"Truly, Clint, we cannot spare you. And besides, I believe human history is filled with crimes committed in the name of martyrs, and I do not speak of you: there may be other Old Ones, and it is nearly certain the rest of the vampires would avenge their fallen comrades, if only out of viciousness. Annie, what is your plan?"

"For you to come with me, _now,"_ Annie replied forcefully. There was no time to waste. Loki blinked in surprise, but obediently followed her, Scamp scurrying ahead of him to attach herself to Annie's side. 

As they stepped through the door of the storage closet-- which should have been locked, but Annie wasn't surprised when the door immediately opened for Loki-- she said apologetically, "I'm sorry I spoke to you like that. We need to get down to the shelter fast, before they decide to go do something terrible."

"It is no matter," Loki assured her, his tone perfectly natural, and fortunately neither the slightly stiff nor elaborately casual ones that meant his feelings were hurt. Annie didn't want to hurt his feelings at any time, but just now they really didn't have time for a misunderstanding. "And then what shall we do?"

Annie grabbed his hand and led the way toward the stairs, talking as fast as she could. 

~oOo~

There was scant need to place a glamour upon Annie, of course, since she could become invisible to the eyes of both vampires and Loki if she wished. This had always been an ability of her, however until just now she had little real control over it: in the past she had done it once or twice when in a panic, but now it had clearly become a genuine tactical skill. 

At the moment, however, it seemed most useful for her to accompany him and explain her plan while they were in the stairwell. Her idea struck him as admirable in its simplicity, which he knew was not always a virtue of his own schemes. 

They arrived at the bottom of the stairs to find the door still opened inward to the shelter. Infected by Annie's possibly-excessive caution, Loki edged around the doorjamb and peered inside. 

At the far end of the shelter, the vampires were still murmuring among themselves, but Loki had the impression they were coming to a conclusion, and would soon wish to leave the shelter. Given the mood of anger and frustration he could sense in their voices, Loki shuddered to think what they might then do to relieve their feelings. 

Between the cluster of vampires and the door, Loki could see outlined the furnishings described by Annie, the iron bunks and moldering chairs. Loki gathered the glamour more tightly around himself and Annie like a cloak of invisibility, and the two crept forward to investigate. Groping silently in the darkness Loki found the bunks, at least, appeared to be fastened to the floor by means of heavy bolts. These, however, were so rusted they seemed to be almost ready to crumble away entirely-- a determined human of ordinary strength probably could have broken them loose, though it would have taken some considerable effort to move them. 

Annie's plan naturally had nothing to do with humans whether of ordinary strength or otherwise. He reached toward the furnishings with his magic-- and felt, alongside it, the brush of Annie's poltergeist power. It was a surprisingly intimate feeling, although this was hardly the time to think about that. 

Loki felt his and Annie's powers wrap themselves around the heavy iron bedsteads, then the chairs-- he glanced at her, nodded once, and both of them--

_\--pulled._

At the corner of his vision he was briefly aware of the vampires' reactions of surprise and alarm as the furnishings rose in the air. Then he and Annie were mutually focused on the steel door slamming and the furniture piling in front of it. Annie's power retreated as Loki's fused the furnishings together and with the door, in a red-hot tangle that turned the surviving moldered cushions into a smoky mess. Loki, holding his breath, reminded himself the vampires did not need to breathe and so the fumes could do them little harm. Their businesswear would doubtless require the services of a dry cleaner to remove the smell, but this concerned him little. 

_"Mobiles,"_ Annie was saying into his ear, and Loki let go of the furniture in favour of sending a bolt of magic through the vampires themselves. This did not especially harm the vampires, but it drew the charge from of the batteries in their mobile phones, rendering the devices useless.

Loki reached out and felt Annie catch hold of his hand. In the next moment, both of them were taking what felt like a giant step--

\-- to emerge on the pavement beside their friends. This time Clint did a better job of suppressing his start when they appeared. 

"What's happening?" he asked. Loki glanced at Annie, who explained, 

"We've barricaded them inside the shelter. I expect they'll dig themselves out eventually, but for now they're one less thing to worry about."

Mitchell looked torn between skepticism and hope. Loki, who knew very well the feeling of being unable to trust in the news one most wished to hear, added, 

"We have also disabled their mobiles, so they will be unable to call for assistance. We should therefore, I think, turn our attention to stopping the other vampires' next move." 

"Based on the plans, that'll be Parliament," Clint noted. Loki felt his head go up and his shoulders square. 

"Then that is where we will begin." 

~0~

The Palace of Westminster was never completely dark or entirely deserted. A special branch of the Metropolitan Police was dedicated to its security, backed up when necessary by another, heavily-armed, force. This second force was of little concern to the vampires, since they didn't routinely carry stakes or guns loaded with wooden bullets. 

The first one, though-- 

Well, to be honest, they were of more concern to Geoff than to most of the others, because in addition to closed-circuit television, the Palace was protected by foot patrols throughout the night. Seth, either showing unexpected common sense or under orders, had instructed the vampires not to kill the human guards. This was for strictly tactical reasons: the vampires wouldn't show up on CCTV, but corpses and blood trails would certainly be visible, and when the Members of Parliament arrived in the morning a scene of gory mayhem would certainly frighten them away before anyone could mind-control anybody. 

Geoff certainly hoped the rest of the Bristol vampires had the common sense to obey orders. His own best chance of escaping with his life was by throwing in his lot with the Avengers, and protecting human lives was his best chance of convincing the Avengers to accept him as an ally. If he were smarter or more powerful he supposed he might try to work an angle to his own advantage after that, but Geoff was a realist, and just about smart enough to know his own limitations. 

He was no Mitchell, sentimental about humans but strong and tough enough to command (reluctant) respect within the vampire community. Also unlike Mitchell he had no real desire to break with the rest of the vampires, so he was going to need to play this carefully, whatever role he chose. 

A role suggested itself as the train pulled into Paddington Station: keeping watch over Cara, who'd spent most of the journey muttering rebelliously about Seth getting above himself. Geoff eventually gave up on reminding her their orders were from much higher up, or that, as soon as they had the humans securely under control, they'd surely be given the go-ahead to commit all the mayhem their black hearts desired. The only way to keep her under control was to stay at her elbow, and as little as he cared for the assignment, at least he could tell the Avengers he'd directly protected humans from her. Even if it didn't endear him to the superheroes, maybe Ivan would… well. Something. 

As they stepped onto the platform at Paddington, Seth emerged from the shadows-- he was the kind of creepy bastard who could always find a shadow somewhere-- and walked toward them. Geoff resisted the urge to look around for the others, since obviously they weren't going to be gathering like kids on a school trip. He stood his ground as Seth oozed up to them. 

"Change of plans," Seth announced, with one of his oily smiles. "We're not going to rendezvous with the Old Ones after all."

Being dead, Geoff didn't have much in the way of blood, but what he had ran cold. This sounded like double-crossing. The Old Ones. _Double-crossing the Old Ones._ His fear of the Avengers disappeared under a far more concentrated wave of fear of the Old Ones. 

"What's happened?" Cara demanded, her eyes narrowing. 

"Mr. Wyndham is taking direct control of this action," Seth explained. "There's no need of any other leadership. We'll simply report on our successes afterward."

 _So Wyndham can take all the credit,_ Geoff thought. Or all the blame, if it came to that, but this was how someone like Wyndham differed from someone like Geoff: Wyndham would think the risk worth it. 

"So that means we're going directly to Parliament?" Geoff asked, trying to sound cool. Seth nodded, already looking up and down the platform for anyone else he might need to intercept. 

"And where is Wyndham, then?" Cara demanded. Geoff experienced a flash of gratitude to her for asking the question so he didn't have to: from him, it might have sounded a bit suspicious, what with Geoff ordinarily being the sort who did what he was told. Cara questioned everything Seth ever did, of course she'd question this as well. 

Seth glared at her, but it actually wasn't an unreasonable question, and Geoff decided to back her by looking curious as well. 

"He'll meet us… after," Seth explained. 

Cara snorted. Honestly, the mad cow was just _asking_ for Seth to turn on her. 

"Letting the rest of us take all the risks, is he?" she demanded. 

Actually, now she said it…

Seth sneered. "No. He's making certain we secure the Prime Minister, so he's on his way to Downing Street _personally."_

It took an effort to keep his expression neutral. "The Prime Minister? I thought we were going to take her at Parliament, I didn't see the plans for Downing Street-- "

"Doesn't need them," Seth gloated. "He's been there before, and he knows his way around. Now, come on. We've no time to waste." 

"I need the loo first," Geoff muttered. Seth glared, then looked at Cara. 

"You two stay together," he ordered. Cara looked like arguing, but since she obviously didn't trust Geoff any more than her trusted her, she nodded. 

"Scared?" she jeered. 

Geoff ignored her, although in truth that was part of the reason for his detour. 

That, and he thought this change of plan warranted a message to Ivan.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _Obviously timelines in this story have gotten quite tangled, but it might help to keep in mind that many scenes happen simultaneously. It's now about four in the morning._
> 
> _Incidentally, since Housemates takes place in an entirely alternate universe, you may notice references to a Prime Minister who is definitely not the one currently in power. Please feel free to imagine anyone you like in the role. Personally, I'm going back and forth between Helen Mirren and Amal Clooney (either a lookalike, or Amal herself.) I don't think we're going to meet the American president in this story but in case we do, I've been picturing Michelle Obama in the role. But you do you._
> 
> _I'm so sorry this update has taken so long, and for not responding to comments as I usually do. There's nothing wrong, and I'm not working harder or longer hours than anyone else on this site. I think it's a combination of having bitten off a lot in this story and trying to effectively chew it, and being tired and therefore distractible. I know pretty much exactly what is going to happen, I'm just having trouble writing it down. Thank you to everyone who has hung in there all this time, I appreciate your patience and am grateful for your encouragement!_
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _I realize the vampires' plan is even stupider than Loki's supervillain plan in **The Avengers** , but if you watch **Being Human** you've probably noticed that strategy is not really the vampires' strong point. They seem to like to get right to the bloodshed and mayhem and assume that's all they need. In this case, perhaps trying to postpone the bloodshed and mayhem has made their tactical thinking even worse than usual._

From their vantage point high on a building, passing Clint's binoculars back and forth, Loki and his friends eventually stopped counting the vampires creeping around the grounds of the Palace of Westminster. 

"I had no idea there were this many vampires in Bristol," Annie remarked nervously, one hand on Scamp's back to forestall the dog's obvious desire to charge. 

"I don't think there are," Mitchell replied. "There must be vampires here from London as well." 

"From all over the European Union, I'd say," George said, in a sort of high-pitched whisper. 

"Awesome," Clint murmured, his tone absentminded, as he studied the situation. "So they just plan to, what, lurk until the MPs start arriving and then nab them? Seriously?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Hasn't anyone mentioned to you that tactics aren't their strong suit?"

"And yet they want to take over the world," Clint said, his tone disapproving. Loki was unable to determine whether Clint disapproved of the intent, or the slipshod methods being employed toward its end. On the whole he thought it best not to inquire. Clint glanced at Loki and asked, "I don't suppose you have a magic spell to deal with them, do you?"

"I have not," Loki replied, his tone perfectly steady. Had he been connected to the truth-detecting machine, its sensors would have registered no falsehood. Clint probably sensed as much himself, which of course meant Loki was lying. Well, not really lying. If there was no other alternative he supposed fire would cleanse Parliament of its vampire infestation, but destroying the Palace of Westminster and killing all its human inhabitants-- to say nothing of the collateral damage to London in general-- was a course he planned to avoid if there was any possible alternative. 

A faint buzz sounded from Mitchell's pocket. The vampire reached for his mobile and looked at it as he explained, 

"Keep in mind that vampires are pure predators. Most of them don't have any other interests. So their thinking tends to revolve around prey, not strategy. Doesn't mean they're not dangerous."

_If nothing else, holding such a large number of by-elections at one time would be a fearful nuisance,_ was Loki's first thought. He had the common sense to keep it to himself. 

Clint, apparently conceding the point, jerked his chin at the mobile in Mitchell's hand. "Ivan?"

"Yes," Mitchell agreed, tapping out a hasty message. "He and Daisy and the witches just arrived. They're at Trafalgar Square." _Of course they were._

"Tell him we'll meet them there," Clint instructed, and gestured the others to follow him. If he was weary of journeying back and forth across the same section of London, he did not say so. 

Trafalgar Square was, at this time of night-- morning?-- as deserted as it was ever likely to be, and they were cautious as they skirted the plaza toward the plinth on the northwest corner, where the others were waiting. Ivan stepped out of the shadows and strolled forward as they approached, followed by Daisy and the two witches.

"Good to see you," Mitchell greeted the four. Daisy snarled at him. Scamp snarled right back, subsiding with reluctance when Annie hushed her, but fortunately remaining in her normal small form.

"We appreciate your assistance," Loki spoke up formally, addressing Catherine and Agnes.

"From the sound of things you need all the help you can get," Catherine remarked. 

_"We,"_ Agnes supplied a mild correction. _"We_ need all the help we can get." 

"I've just had a message from Geoff," Ivan said abruptly. "Wyndham seems to be bypassing the Old Ones-- "

"Way ahead of you there," George muttered. Ignoring him, Ivan went on, 

"-- and he's also targeting the Prime Minister personally."

"Of course he is," Clint said. "He can still be taken out by a wooden arrow, right?" He cast a sharp glance at Mitchell and added, "Vampire politics or not, he's going down." 

"I'm not arguing," Mitchell shrugged. "The trouble is-- "

"The trouble," Ivan said, "is that if he's already inside Number Ten, there's no way for you to get a shot at him without coming within range of his powers. And Edgar might be a fool, but he's very powerful. He'll have the whole house more or less fogged with… Loki would say magic. There are staff members in that building-- security guards and the PM's household-- and the PM's husband. Controlling them is quicker and cleaner than killing them. For now." Ivan manifestly did not care what happened to the staff or the PM's husband-- and probably not the Prime Minister herself-- but was passing on the information to allies who did. Loki appreciated this, at least from a tactical perspective. Ivan went on, "He doesn't need to be in the same room with a human to control them, but even if you somehow got past his powers, you won't be able to sneak up on him. I know you're very good at your job. So is Wyndham, and he's been very good at his… job… for about a thousand years. Don't underestimate him."

"He sounds like our problem," Catherine said. Ivan looked doubtful, and Agnes suddenly smiled, an angular predatory smile that Loki had not seen on her face since the very earliest stages of their acquaintance. 

"Between the two of us, Catherine and I have been very good at our jobs for about a thousand years as well," she said. "And so has Loki. Three is a powerful number for sorcery." 

"Which leaves the rest of them for us," Clint noted, in the tone of one doing mathematical calculations in his head. Loki did so as well, and the sum he reached was _outnumbered._

"I suggest you limit your activity to reconnaissance for the moment," Loki cautioned. Clint grimaced but did not protest. Loki turned to Ivan. "Unless you feel equal to subduing perhaps a hundred of your fellows, and persuading them to return peacefully to their homes?" 

"I don't," Ivan admitted. "Not a group that large-- I'm not as old or as powerful as Wyndham. I can… _persuade…_ smaller groups, though." He turned to Clint with an air of easy confidence: "You lot stick to surveillance for now. Daisy and I will look around on our own."

"Sure," Clint agreed, apparently without a second thought. Under the circumstances that should have put Loki on his guard, but as it happened he was on his guard already. Inherently untrustworthy himself, Loki certainly did not expect fair play in Ivan. And also, of course, had he been in Ivan's position, he would certainly have cheated to ensure Annie stayed with him, rather than among newly minted and certainly temporary allies. 

Ivan was doing exactly what Loki would have done in the same situation, which was probably reason enough to stop him. 

And so, as Ivan spoke, Loki was already on the alert for any sign of the oily magic he associated with powerful vampires. He felt it reaching out, enveloping Clint and Mitchell, curling around George and himself as if looking for a handhold. 

It took a considerable amount of his own (still somewhat depleted) powers, and rather more to appear as if no effort was being expended at all, but Loki was able to perform the sorcerous equivalent of batting Ivan's hand away. 

"Daisy will remain with Agnes, Catherine, and myself," Loki announced, in a tone which brooked no argument. It was not the stern tone he used on small misbehaving children. It was rather the imperious one that, long ago, had served to remind Asgard it had more than one prince. The oily magic loosened its grip and receded. Mitchell looked suddenly alarmed, while Clint blinked, and then jerked his head as if to clear it.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, in a furious undertone.

"That was what I believe you would term 'a good try'," Loki replied. Ivan, to his credit, accepted his defeat with what appeared to be good grace. He also did not seem aware of any difficulty on Loki's part, which was a relief. Loki modulated his tone slightly as he spoke next-- he did not wish to make an enemy of Ivan, even with a hostage to his continued good behavior: "I trust you understand why we prefer Daisy not accompany you as you 'look around.' She will be quite safe with us while we investigate our… magical options."

"And suppose Daisy doesn't care about being safe?" Daisy demanded-- which was fair enough, really, although it changed nothing.

"I'm afraid you don't get a vote," Catherine said calmly. "And neither does Ivan."

If Ivan felt frustration, he did not let it show, merely inclined his head toward Loki and the witches. He then turned to Daisy and gave her a kiss that made George look away in discomfort. Since that was obviously the intent, Loki did not.

"I'll be back soon," Ivan promised. 

"I know," Daisy replied, shooting a glance at Loki and the witches that suggested she would join him as soon as she had dealt with a certain minor inconvenience. Having in the past been threatened, and also pummeled, by far more fearsome opponents-- including both a dragon and his own brother-- Loki was perhaps less impressed than she might have wished. 

Annie, with calm practicality, changed the subject:

"When we get there, back to Parliament, I'll go inside and look around, try to get an accurate count of how many vampires there are and where they are in the buildings." 

Ivan nodded. "All right. I'll see who I can pick off outside, privately." No one asked him what form this "picking off" might take. Loki suspected it might be the sort of thing Ivan decided upon on an ad hoc basis. 

On that note, and after a much less conspicuous embrace between Annie and Loki, the two groups separated. 

~oOo~

Walking openly, making no effort at concealment (not for him to slink and sidle, this was his _right)_ Wyndham approached the gleaming black door with its lion's-head knocker and the shining brass knob in its centre. The injunction against entry without invitation did not apply to Old Ones as powerful as Wyndham, as he had shown in Scotland when he entered the home of Tony Stark. (He ground his teeth at the memory of the girl he encountered there-- he would pay her out for that.) Besides, 10 Downing Street was not a private residence, it belonged to the Nation, to the Island. 

And, of course, Wyndham had in fact visited as an invited guest, many years ago when the house was new, before its yellow bricks were blackened by the smoke and corruption of London. These days the bricks were painted black, so the humans would not know-- would not have to think-- of the corruption. Would not have to face it. 

Humans were infinitely adaptable, but they preferred illusion to reality, and that trait would serve the vampires well when they took power. The humans would _adapt_ to their new masters, to the new ways of their world. 

Their adaptation could begin now. 

Wyndham reached the gleaming black door and took hold of the knob. The door was locked, and a human would have said it could not be opened from the outside. This was hardly an impediment to Wyndham-- the door in Scotland had been locked, too. He could not pass through solid walls but an ordinary door was well within his powers. The knob turned, the black door opened, and he stepped into the entry hall with its black-and-white marble floor. The tiles were, of course, new since his first visit, and the house itself had been much smaller-- nowadays the houses at 11 and 12 Downing Street had been knocked together with Number 10. 

The new configuration might have been confusing under other circumstances, but Wyndham was unconcerned with floor plans. He needed to find, not specific rooms, but specific occupants. 

Across the entry hall a pair of guards turned toward him. Wyndham smiled at them, felt their minds wriggle briefly in his grasp and then succumb. Once, centuries ago, he had gloried in the physical resistance of his prey, the feeling of overpowering them before he sank his teeth into their flesh. Now, though of course he still fed upon humans, his greater pleasure was in crushing their minds. 

Alas, as his own power increased he experienced less and less satisfaction in overcoming such puny resistance. He had hoped Loki would present a greater challenge, but the sorcerer had proved a disappointment, succumbing with barely a struggle. And the fool Doom believed such a weakling could _help_ them? 

It was of little consequence, now. Wyndham gestured, and one of the guards returned to his station. Addressing the other, Wyndham said, 

"You will take me to the Prime Minister."

"Sir," the human replied, and led the way toward the staircase.

~oOo~

Retracing their steps from Trafalgar Square naturally meant passing within hailing distance of Downing Street once again. George found himself feeling quite grateful that Clint was the Avengers' representative in their little group. Someone like Steve or Tony might have given in to the temptation to mount a faint-hope attempt to rescue the Prime Minister and her household. George had nothing against the Prime Minister-- he had voted for her party-- but considering they were engaged in a faint-hope enterprise in the first place, he wasn't sorry that Clint was sticking to the plan. 

As, he hoped, was Ivan, who left them without comment as they were approaching Westminster Abbey. They had already decided that Annie would enter the Palace of Westminster by the Visitors' Entrance. Loki would certainly have found that amusing, but since Annie had never been inside the Palace before she thought the signage would be better in the more public areas. Annie, of course, could just pass through walls wherever she wanted to, with little fear of tumbling down an unexpected staircase, but if the others went inside they were going to have to use corridors and part of Annie's job was to act as scout for them.

"And what are the chances we'll have to do that?" Mitchell asked, looking uneasy. 

Clint shrugged. "Depends on what Loki and the witches come up with. Annie, look for vantage points I can shoot from, all right?"

Annie had just opened her mouth to reply when Scamp suddenly snarled, and a group of dark figures stepped out of the shadows. 

"Mitchell," said the vampire named Gareth, in a tone full of false _bonhomie_ , "isn't it nice to see you again." 

~oOo~

The tension in the room had been somewhat broken by Annie's startling appearance and disappearance. Before anyone else could speak, Coulson turned to Loki. 

"How about we step outside for a minute? I could use a little fresh air."

His tone was calmly uninflected, but most of the Avengers-- from both realities-- looked amusingly like rebuked children. Coulson pushed back his chair and rose. After a slight pause, obviously hoping to avoid the impression he was scurrying in Coulson's wake, Loki followed Coulson outside to the flight deck. 

Thor immediately turned to his friends. "If this briefing has, for the moment, ended, I wonder if I might have a little privacy with my… opposite number?"

Othor looked startled, but both Nick Furys nodded. The one who belonged in this reality rose to his feet and gestured toward the door. "Good idea. Try not to break anything, okay? The rest of you, out." Without argument, and in some cases wearing expressions of relief that belied their status as superheroes, the other Avengers quickly obeyed. As the two Nick Furys made to follow, the local one turned back and remarked, "We're over the Atlantic Ocean now, and it's a long swim to Ireland. Seriously, don't lose your tempers."

"Indeed," said Thor, with an unhappy memory of himself announcing his intent to return to Asgard to "have words with" his brother. This time, of course, he really did mean only to talk. If possible. 

Left alone with his "opposite number," Othor wore the rebellious expression of a chastised youth-- hardly a promising start. Thor drew in a breath through his nose and let it out slowly. As he did so, Thor tried to imagine how Jane or Annie might approach this conversation. 

And then, quite suddenly, he knew what he really wanted to ask, what question needed to be answered:

"Did you miss him at all?"

Whatever Othor had been expecting, this was not it. He blinked, clearly puzzled, and Thor wondered whether the rush of impatience he now felt was the same as his own brother used to experience whenever Thor himself was stupid or slow.

"What?" Othor asked.

"It is a straightforward question," Thor replied. "Did you miss him?"

"We mourned him," Othor growled. 

"I am sure you did," Thor agreed. "I am well acquainted with the rituals of Asgard. But that does not answer my question." Othor looked away, and for a moment Thor was encouraged by what he took to be a sign of self-consciousness, perhaps of shame-- at the very least a sign of softening that might enable him to extend a hand to his brother. 

The hope was disappointed as Othor set his jaw. 

"Of course I missed him. There were many time when his tricks-- " 

Thor brought his open hand down on the tabletop, not quite hard enough to crack the surface but certainly with enough force to make a sharp report. 

_"Not_ his abilities. _Not_ his support when you needed it, and a swift retreat to your heel when the time came for credit. _Him."_ Aware he was losing any chance to reach the other, Thor forced himself to be silent for a moment, and then started over. "I do not know whether you _want_ to reconcile with your brother, but if you do you must offer him your hand-- without demands or conditions." 

"And what of _his_ actions?" Othor demanded. "Before his fall, before the Void, he-- "

"Yes, I know," Thor interrupted. "My own brother-- I do not deny wrongdoing on his part, or that he had amends of his own to make. My brother has done so, inasmuch as it is possible. Yours has not, but I do not believe he _can._ At least not now, not after everything else that has happened to him since his fall." _And before it,_ Thor reflected, _he was owed an apology, for all those lies if nothing else._

He did not say as much, of course: his intent was to convince, not provoke, the other Thor. 

"He committed treason," Othor argued. "He brought enemies into the weapons vault. He should have been punished for that."

"He has, at least, suffered for it," Thor pointed out. He did not add, _And there was treason enough to go around,_ but he wondered whether this other Thor ever thought about that, about defying the Allfather on his hotheaded mission to Jotunheim. 

"You speak of your brother's amends," Othor said suddenly. "Did he demand your apology first, as a condition of making them?" 

"The circumstances were different," Thor replied. "My brother was… during his fall, he was protected. Our father ensured he was sent to a place where healing was possible, and that he was… receptive." Brushing aside the memory of his father's explanation for that receptiveness, Thor laughed briefly. "And, of course, my brother is a shapeshifter. You have met his friends. He could come to little harm through becoming more like them." Sobering, he added, "My brother had time and safety to think and to regret. Yours has not. If reconciliation is important to you, offer it. You must decide, and quickly, which is most important to you-- your brother or your pride." 

Othor was silent for a long moment. 

Then he got up and walked out of the room, in the direction taken by his team mates. 

Disappointed but not entirely surprised by this tacit answer, Thor also rose to his feet and went to a door-- in his case, the one leading onto the flight deck, through which Loki and Coulson had gone. As he glanced around he saw them standing beside the railing the protected crew members from falling. Despite his own brother's reassurances on the matter of falling, Thor felt his breath catch at the sight of Loki-- any Loki-- so close to the edge. 

Coulson and Loki glanced up at his approach. Loki's face tensed, then relaxed in apparent recognition. _That,_ Thor thought, _is not a good sign._

He walked over to the railing-- Loki took a step away from it, which was not Thor's intent but, truly, he was not sorry to see him move away from the edge. 

"You all right?" Coulson asked, in his neutral voice. 

"I have been speaking with-- with the other Thor." Loki went rigid, and it occurred to Thor that before advising Othor on reconciliation with his brother, he perhaps should have asked Loki whether he had any desire for such a thing. "It was not my place to do so, but…"

"But you and your brother are both sentimental." The words were sneering but Loki's tone was merely tired. Thor shrugged. Loki shook his head. "It is not the same. To him, a brother is… a soldier who need not be rallied, an ally whose concerns are never considered… a dog responsible for his own care."

"And to you?" Thor asked quietly. Loki regarded him for a moment, and then smiled briefly. 

"Fortunately, that is immaterial, since I have not got a brother." 

Unable to think of a response, Thor nodded to Loki, then Coulson, and went back inside the helicarrier. 

~oOo~

Daisy was understandably unhappy about being left behind with Agnes, Catherine, and Loki. She was unhappier still when Agnes, without comment, traced a white circle on the pavement around her and she discovered she could not leave it. 

"Salt," Catherine explained, aside, to Loki. "Useful substance."

"Apologies," Agnes addressed the hissing vampire, in the least apologetic tone imaginable, "but we need to concentrate, and I'm afraid you can't be trusted." Daisy's lip curled, but vampires were pragmatists and she did not attempt to argue. 

The three sorcerers moved a short distance away from Daisy, Agnes set another circle, murmuring softly as she did so, and they all three stepped inside. 

"We haven't actually discussed what working we plan to do," Catherine remarked in an undertone. "Loki, have you got any ideas?"

"One," he admitted. "I have had… a certain amount of success in contacting the magic of this realm and asking its assistance." This was perhaps not strictly true, since the magic had in fact sought him out to do its bidding, but… close enough, as his housemates might say. "If we are all still and receptive, something may happen."

And this was where he found himself grateful to be teamed with centuries-old witches, who had long since learned the value of patience. Catherine and Agnes joined hands and then each reached out for one of his. The last time they had done this, Loki had been the interested observer. This time, he could feel the consciousness of the other two, hovering watchfully nearby. 

He certainly hoped not to let them down. 

The worry was fleeting: he breathed deeply for a moment and closed his eyes-- and almost at once felt the sensation of magic rising as though to meet him, coursing up through his body. It filled his chest with lightness and warmth, spread outward to his extremities and made his scalp tingle. He could feel the power gather in his hands, in his palms and fingertips, then flow into the hands that held his, but there was no sensation of loss, only increase as of a reservoir filling as the main vessel overflowed. He was aware of Agnes and Catherine on either side of him, their auras brightening as the magic connecting them increased. 

As yet it was impossible to tell what would happen next, what form the magic would take, but when Daisy cried out in alarm, Loki opened his eyes to see find them surrounded by light, the enchanted circle glowing brightly. 

And above them, at the foot of Nelson's Column, one of the great bronze lions stretched and flexed its paws.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _This chapter includes a couple of direct quotes from **Being Human** , another from the sports pages, and one from Gord Downie. There is no point my apologizing again for how long this chapter took, but at least in this one things actually happen!_
> 
> _Also I mentioned in the notes to the last chapter that I figured it was about four in the morning. I just learned that "the witching hour" was originally considered to be between 3 and 4 AM. So that's what time it is._
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _None I can think of._

From the time he arrived in Britain ( _landed,_ they called it, when one was an immigrant one landed in Britain, and by now Loki found the irony pleasing)--

From the time he _landed_ in Britain, Loki had made an effort to "fit in." Probably this began as a defensive mechanism-- he had never really "fit in" to Asgard, and look how _that_ turned out-- an effort to ingratiate himself with his new companions so they would not change their minds about letting him stay. Regardless, the longer he stayed, and the deeper ran his affection for this peculiar realm and its inhabitants, the more sincere were the efforts. 

Eventually, after he felt reasonably comfortable with most aspects of everyday life, he even began to take a certain interest in sport. Midgardians' obsession with the subject initially puzzled him-- there was no equivalent passion in Asgard, unless one counted warfare which was hardly the same thing-- but he did his best. The fact there were options that involved much in the way of skill and trickery, and comparatively little brute strength, helped. Football was of course ubiquitous, and Mitchell, who liked it, was willing to explain the rules. Loki's efforts to understand cricket were less successful, since no one else in the house seemed to have any idea what the rules of the game were, either. Show-jumping was by contrast self-explanatory, and Loki (in an _entirely unmythological way)_ had always been fond of horses.

His interest in motorsport began in the earliest days of his friendship with Tony Stark, who of course owned a (middling-successful) Formula One team of his own. However, as soon as he began to follow the sport in the press at home, Loki became aware of the long tradition of British motor racing, with heroes and villains (relatively speaking) of its own. Mitchell, who of course had followed the sport since its beginnings, had many stories to tell of its earliest days. George, not normally interested in sport, liked the technical aspects. Annie seldom watched the actual races, but had an affection for certain of the drivers, generally for reasons having nothing whatsoever to do with racing. ("Look how cute his dogs are!")

Loki, also for reasons having little to do with racing, now cheered for McLaren and also Williams, and took a friendly interest in all British drivers (including the one with the dogs) no matter what team employed them. 

It was, fortunately, not required that he cheer _only_ for British drivers, and so he also followed the fortunes of many others: the cryptic Finn, the cheerful Australian, the mischievous German. It was the latter who, once asked what he liked about the British, replied, "Their sense of humour. It's not going to be the weather or the food, is it?"

Loki had reached the point at which he could admit, at least privately to himself, that he was not always completely enamoured of British weather-- cold, raw, and rainy was not really his preference. On the other hand he quite liked British food, particularly curry. 

However, as he watched the bronze lions stand, stretch, and, one by one, leap down from their places at the foot of the column, he found himself fully in agreement with the German driver: the best thing about Britain was indeed its sense of humour. 

Daisy, her usual air of careless arrogance notably shaken, stared wide-eyed as the huge creatures passed them, moving with the rolling-shouldered swagger of all big cats. 

"What are you _doing?"_ she asked hoarsely. 

"I?" Loki replied, with synthetic innocence and considerable satisfaction. He waved his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. _"I_ am doing nothing. It is your realm."

Agnes Scott seemed about to speak, but whatever she intended to say was left unsaid as a bronze chariot rattled by, carrying three martial-looking bronze women and heading toward Parliament. At Loki's questioning look, Agnes said briefly, 

"Boadicea, with her daughters. She was a British queen who led her people against the Roman invaders."

"Ah," said Loki. "I begin to sense a theme."

~oOo~

Some distance away, on the Strand, stood the church of St Clement Danes. At this hour even its famous bells were silent, the grounds dark, though the church itself was gently illuminated by outdoor lights gleaming on its pale stone, and on the blue cross that heralded it as RAF St Clement Danes, central church of the Royal Air Force. 

Also illuminated was the statue of a thin, solemn-faced man in uniform, hands at his lapels. Despite his garb, he looked thoughtful and resolute rather than fierce. 

The impression of resolution persisted as he blinked, lowered his hands, and turned toward Parliament. 

Then, moving rather stiffly, Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Caswall Tremenheere Dowding climbed down from his plinth and set off toward the Palace of Westminster.

~oOo~

The scene was repeated all across the city, as effigies stepped down from their pedestals and began the walk, long or short, toward Parliament. Queens and suffragettes, soldiers and kings on horseback, a former Lord Mayor accompanied by his cat. Two tiny mice ceased squabbling over a bit of cheese in Philpott Street, while St George raised his lance and allowed the dragon to accompany him. In Parliament Square itself, Winston Churchill leaned on his walking stick and, head thrust aggressively forward, led a group of statesmen-- some of whom would never, in life, have followed him anywhere-- toward the Palace of Westminster. 

Far above their heads, Big Ben spoke, sounding first his carillon and then three great chimes. 

~oOo~

"I wouldn't advise you to try any ghostie shit," Gareth addressed Annie. "Because if you do, your human pal is lunch." Annie, face grim, gestured to Scamp to be quiet. The little dog's growls subsided. 

"Gareth," Mitchell said with flat calm, glancing around at the vampires who surrounded them. Gareth's confident sneer seemed genuine, but judging by their expressions a few of his followers remembered Mitchell's days as Herrick's attack dog, and still feared him.

_Good._

He also took heart at the sight of Geoff hanging around the fringes of the group. So far as he knew the younger vampire was still on their side, or at any rate Ivan's, and Mitchell didn't think Geoff would betray them unless (until?) Ivan did. Whether he could think of anything useful to do was an open question, of course, but Mitchell couldn't deny it was comforting to see one relatively friendly face in the crowd. 

_One_ friendly face.

"Not such a big man now, are you?" Cara spoke up, in the sort of playground taunt that could get a young vampire killed, unless they were under the specific protection of a much more powerful member of the community. Back in the not-terribly-distant past, Mitchell might have taken fatal exception to her tone. Now he simply ignored her. Sooner or later she was going to overstep herself, but that didn't help at the moment. 

Rather unexpectedly, Geoff was the next to speak up:

"Are we taking them to Seth?" he asked. 

"We should kill them right now," Cara objected. Gareth didn't look at either of them, just snapped, 

"Seth will want to… _have a word_ with you." Gareth looked Clint up and down, a little sneer playing at the corners of his mouth. "I think we'll leave you to speak for yourself. Might be funny." 

Clint hiked an eyebrow at Gareth and offered a little sneer in return. He looked entirely unimpressed, which-- after the demonstration on the helicarrier of vampire power and its effect on him-- had to be an act. Still, the expression was convincing enough that for a second Mitchell was afraid Gareth might decide to crush the human, just to wipe the smirk off his face. If Clint was hoping to provoke Gareth into doing something dumb, though, he was going to have to try harder. Gareth just snatched the quiver of arrows off Clint's shoulder and tossed them into the bushes, then gestured to the others to take the prisoners away. 

He did, however, take a moment to murmur in Mitchell's ear, 

"Seth is really looking forward to seeing you again."

Mitchell shrugged. "I wish I could say the same." 

The group allowed themselves to be roughly herded into the Palace of Westminster and then to the Commons, where vampires lounged on the green leather benches that normally held the bums of MPs. At the front of the chamber Seth occupied the tall Speaker's chair. His arrogant slouch was probably intended to convey his contempt for human government, but in Mitchell's opinion he just looked like someone occupying a chair that was far too large for him, and trying not to slide off. 

It did cross Mitchell's mind to wonder what Loki would make of the vampires' disrespectful little pantomime. It was true that Loki seemed to think parliamentary government was the best joke ever invented, but it was also true that at the same time he appeared to take it very seriously, which wasn't really a contradiction if you knew Loki. Mitchell reckoned it was all part of Loki's whole pattern of embracing everything British (except possibly the weather) and, knowing Loki, if he saw Seth and his minions right now he'd set about teaching them some manners. 

Mitchell sincerely hoped Loki got the chance to do so, and soon. In the meantime he just hoped he and his friends could avoid getting killed before Loki and the witches came to the rescue. 

Seth rose to his feet as the group came into the chamber, the better to loom over them, and smiled his unpleasant, empty-headed smile as they came to a stop in front of the clerks' table. 

"Well, well. What have we here?" Seth was an idiot, but even an idiot could sound intimidating with the odds stacked so much in his favour. "I must say, I don't think much of the company you're keeping these days, Mitchell. A human, your little dog-- " this with a leer at George-- "and… what is that?" he said, nose wrinkling, as he looked Annie up and down. 

"I'm a ghost, actually," Annie replied stiffly. Seth had to have known that, as Herrick's chief stooge he would certainly have known all about her, but he chose to play to the gallery. With a show of surprise he said, 

"Get out. Can you like, move things about and, y'know, walk from one room to another?"

Annie received this sally-- and the sycophantic laughter of the other vampires-- in silence and with an expression of scorn. George, however, spoke up:

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure everyone can do that." 

Someone-- Cara-- laughed, an ugly sound, and Seth's expression hardened.

"Shut it, Digby," he snapped, looking flustered. He quickly focused on Mitchell again. "Lucky you. You're about to have a ringside seat for the end of the world."

"Is this the bit where you explain your plans to us?" Mitchell asked, trying for the expression of infuriating innocence he thought Loki would be wearing at this moment. Needling Seth probably wasn't the smartest thing to do at the moment but their options were limited and besides, Mitchell was damned if he'd give the fool the satisfaction of beating them. "You know, have a bit of a gloat?"

"I always like that part," Clint agreed. 

"Should we wait for Mr. Wyndham?" Geoff asked, his tone carefully deferential. "Let him decide what to do with them and when?"

"I say we kill them now," Cara spoke up-- one track mind, that one-- and Seth turned on her. 

"Shut up, you silly cow. One of you, go find Wyndham." 

Without waiting for orders, Geoff nodded obsequiously and sidled out of the group. Seth watched him go, then turned back to Mitchell. "Still think you're the big man, don't you? It's sickening, really-- from Herrick's attack dog to the humans' lap dog. I would have thought even you wouldn't fall that far."

Mitchell sighed. "Really, Seth, you're not still banging on about Herrick? It might be time to think about getting some help-- it's not too late to find love again."

Which really was a stupid thing to say and probably would have been the remark that tipped Seth over the edge into murderous rage--

\-- Except that, before the other vampire could react, there was a commotion outside the chamber. Then the doors crashed open. 

~oOo~

"How'd it go?" Tony, who along with Steve had been lurking around in the corridor, asked as Thor emerged from the conference room. "I mean, obviously we're still flying so it can't have gone _that_ badly, but Othor came by a minute ago with a face like, well, you know, so-- "

Steve poked him sharply in the ribs, which in the absence of the suit hurt _a lot,_ and Tony fell silent, and also into step with Thor as the big guy strode down the corridor. He _also_ had a face like, well, you know. 

"Thor?" Steve prompted quietly. "It would be great if we all knew what's going on."

Thor stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled tightly. "I apologize. My efforts to act as a peacemaker were a spectacular failure, the other Thor seems to want nothing further to do with his brother while the other Loki denies he even _has_ a brother."

"You think they'll be able to work together?" Steve asked. 

"Jesus, Steve-- " Tony began, because damn that was _cold,_ but Thor seemed grateful for the change of focus. 

"I think it would be best if we kept them separate for now," he admitted. "But when the time comes for action, I expect there will be enough for both to do to keep occupied." 

"No doubt," Steve agreed. "In the meantime, Natasha's going to be our point person with the other Avengers-- "

_"Two_ Black Widows in the same room," Tony chipped in, shuddering elaborately. "Picture that." Thor smiled again, though it was clear his heart was still not in it. "Come on, big guy. Let's go see if we can scare up a cup of coffee someplace." 

"That is a capital idea," Thor agreed, relaxing slightly.

The moment didn't last long, because when they arrived at the galley they found it already occupied by not only Coulson and new-Loki, but also Stark and Rogers.

It didn't look like a pleasant tete-a-tete. In fact, it might have been Tony's imagination, but he though Coulson actually looked relieved at the interruption. The agent nodded to the newcomers and poured out more cups of coffee. 

"I assume this is what you're looking for?" he said, handing a cup to Tony. From the corner of his eye Tony could see Loki relax slightly. 

"Yeah, since I don't think it would be a good idea to get drunk before we face Doombots, I figure I'll just work on getting as wired as possible," he said cheerfully. "Loki, have you found any tea?" Loki tensed up again and Tony hastily waved off his own comment. "Sorry, man, I forgot you've only been here a couple of days. Seems like a whole lot longer. Even living with Annie you probably haven't gotten trained on tea-making just yet."

"No," Loki replied. And then, with an apparent effort, he added, "Annie seems to enjoy making the tea herself."

"I wonder how she is at coffee?" Tony wondered. 

"They do not keep it," Thor spoke up. With a theatrical shudder of his own, he explained, "Or, rather, they use a foul powder they refer to as 'instant.' The less said of it, the better."

"Ew," Tony agreed, with a shudder of his own, and took a hit from the mug in his hand. Then he turned to Stark and Rogers. "Had a burning need for caffeine as well, did you?" 

"Yes," Rogers said flatly. 

"And information," Stark added, because no matter what reality he came from, Tony Stark could not fucking let well enough alone. 

"Information?" Tony prompted. 

"Yeah. Just in general. You-- " he was addressing Thor-- "said something about your brother coming from a different-- "

"A different race, yes," Thor agreed, cutting a glance at new-Loki as he spoke. No explosion followed, not that Stark seemed to be worrying about that. 

"So, like, how much is that influencing how Thor, I mean _our_ Thor, is acting toward his brother right now?" Stark said. "Because, you know, we have enough problems already without adding racism to the whole mess."

"Especially with Lt-Col Rhodes and Master Sergeant Wilson joining us," Rogers added, looking a little constipated-- seriously, that other reality must be _majorly_ deficient in fibre-- but also genuinely concerned. Tony definitely liked both of them better right now, but he did wish Thor had said "species" instead of "race."

Loki, looking genuinely confused, reinforced Tony's thought as he said, "What have they to do with this matter?"

Stark snorted. "Okay, man, I get that you're not from around here, but believe me, we know all about racism on this planet, and we don't need you Asgard guys getting all weird about Rhodey and Wilson." 

Thor, with a cautious glance at Loki, made an awkward attempt to defuse the situation:

"It is perhaps a little more complicated than you think."

Which was pretty much the worst thing he could have said, and Stark naturally jumped all over him:

"Oh yes, _of course_ it's 'complicated.' It's always 'complicated.' There's always a _good reason_ for shit like that, except there isn't. I know you Asgard guys think everything about you is special, but seriously, there's nothing you need to tell us about-- awk!"

Okay, well, maybe the last syllable of that speech wasn't quite "awk!" but it was close enough. Rogers said nothing, but he looked for a second like his constipation issue might have spontaneously resolved itself. 

Which was understandable, because all of a sudden, sitting in Loki's place was a huge Jotun, and he didn't look happy. 

It had to be a glamour instead of a shapeshift, since the "Jotun" wasn't clad in the tattered remains of Loki's clothing, but it was pretty damned convincing. And it certainly shut Stark up. 

Jotun-Loki smiled, or at least bared his teeth. "Do you still believe we have _nothing to tell you?_ What, quite silent now? No wisdom to offer?" Stark and Rogers remained silent, and Loki turned on Tony, Steve and Coulson. "And you? Would you be so attached to your tame Loki if he looked like _this?"_

Coulson shrugged. "I admit you're a little taller than our Loki in his Jotun form, and the business of not being able to touch any of us is pretty inconvenient, but he's working on that."

Jotun-Loki blinked at Steve in apparent astonishment, and Tony spoke up before he found his tongue: 

"Also, he's a great guy to have on your side in a snowball fight, isn't he, Steve?"

"Sure is," Steve agreed amiably. "We also appreciated the help we got from Jotunheim a while back, when we were having some trouble with shapeshifting aliens from space." He smiled thinly at Stark and Rogers. "Remind us to tell you about that sometime." Returning his attention to Loki, Steve said kindly, "It really is different for your people and the Jotnar, I know that. Here on Earth, our prejudices are mostly a matter of skin colour, religion, culture-- that kind of thing. But underneath it all we're all humans. So no, we _don't_ really understand the, the kind of racism that involves a whole different _species_ that's physically very different, but very similar in terms of emotions and intelligence." 

Jotun-Loki made a scoffing noise, and Thor spoke up:

"It is true, Loki. Of late, since my brother's disastrous actions, there have been efforts made at reconciliation between our realms. The stories we were told as children were only that, stories, and I am sure Jotun children were also told of the wicked Aesir who would eat them up-- "

There was a sparkle of green, and Loki was back to his normal self. Tony thought he was maybe too upset to hang onto the glamour right now-- his expression was the stiff one their Loki wore when he was trying to pretend everything was fine. His tone of voice was still pure sarcasm:

"And what of the Allfather? The great and wise king of Asgard? Is he after all capable of error?"

"He is," Thor replied evenly. "And has admitted as much."

"And you?" Loki demanded. "Are you proud to call a monster _brother?"_

Thor favoured Loki with a look of disappointment that probably would have reduced his own brother to a puddle-- even New-Loki looked like he knew he'd gone too far, although obviously he didn't admit as much. 

"My brother is no monster, no matter his form," Thor said, his tone gentle but definite. Loki actually looked a little ashamed of himself. "And the Jotnar are not monsters at all." He studied Loki with thoughtful eyes, then added, "As for myself, I am no longer the vicious youth who thought so little of my neighbours that I would murder them for a jest, so I suppose I am a monster no longer, as well."

Loki studied Thor for a long silent moment, his jaw tense and his eyes burning. For a second there Tony thought it was touch and go whether he'd blow something up, but instead he just got up and walked out. Coulson nodded to the others and followed him. 

"I don't know if we're going to be able to beat Doom, but we've got him cold in the making-a-dramatic-exit category," Tony commented. 

"Damn," Stark murmured, shaking his head. "That's… that's messed up. Thor, you know how messed up that is, right? Of course you do. I mean… monsters. I know you said they're not really monsters, but damn, that _looked_ like a monster-- "

"Stark," Tony said tiredly, "will you shut up, for God's sake? Thor, do you suppose this has made things worse?"

"I do not know," Thor said heavily. "Probably."

"I don't think so," Steve spoke up. Everyone looked at him. "Didn't you notice? What made him put on that Jotun form?"

"Yeah?" Tony prompted. 

"It was after Stark got after Thor-- he didn't like that at all, and I think he did it to back up Thor's point. Now, admittedly, he did it to prove the Jotnar are monsters, which isn't good, but he was defending Thor. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

Thor blinked. "That is-- yes. Yes, that is… heartening."

Tony, with thoughts in his head of what might happen if both Lokis started fighting over the same Thor, was maybe a little less "heartened," but for once in his life he had the sense to keep quiet. They could drive off that bridge when they came to it. 

~oOo~

There probably should have been guards posted in an organized fashion around the Palace-- in fact, vampires probably should have replaced the human guards who were now locked in a small inner chamber, sitting on the floor and staring straight ahead. These guards' eventual fate was obvious, and Geoff's mouth watered guiltily as the thought crossed his mind, but for the moment the vampires were sticking surprisingly closely to their plan. That, Geoff reckoned, was down not so much to Seth and his leadership as the prospect of having to explain themselves to Wyndham and the other Old Ones. 

And speaking of other Old Ones, Geoff had been sent to find Wyndham, but obviously he wasn't going to do that. As a matter of fact he was hoping to find Loki, who had to be around here somewhere, and tell him what was going on. He'd also just pulled out his mobile to send Ivan a text when someone stepped out from behind a hedge and would have frightened the life out of him if he hadn't already been dead. 

And then he recognized Campbell, one of his fellow spies. "Jesus!" Geoff hissed. "What are you doing out here?"

"Protecting the perimeter," Campbell replied in a hoarse whisper. Geoff stared at him. "That's what Seth sent me to do. If Mitchell and his lot come by I was hoping to help them get into the Palace."

"Too late, they're already in there," Geoff replied, and quickly explained the situation as he typed a text to Ivan. "I don't know what Loki has in mind, but-- "

Whatever Geoff had been planning to say next completely fled from his mind as a horse-drawn chariot came rattling up the silent street. Campbell grabbed him and dragged him out of the way, but the horses stopped, prancing and rearing before them. One of the three women in the chariot, the one standing in the centre brandishing a spear, silently turned toward them. Geoff had a moment to wonder whether her spear could kill a vampire-- it wasn't wooden, but it was obviously magical-- when the woman turned away in dismissal and the chariot moved on. 

"What the fuck-- ?" Campbell breathed. 

"Loki," Geoff said, definitely. "He can't be far." 

~oOo~

"Oh for the love of-- " George blurted as the doors to the Commons broke open under what turned out to be, appropriately, the heavy fist of Winston Churchill. 

Unlike the vampires, George and his friends wasted no time uselessly wondering what was happening-- _Loki. Loki was happening._ (Loki himself would certainly insist it was all London and he was merely the amplifier, but George was of the opinion that if London had chosen a different instrument its magic might have made some less… _conspicuous_ choices.) 

The vampires, meanwhile, wasted several crucial second simply gaping as the doorway filled with walking statues. Then several of them made the inexplicable and frankly very stupid decision to advance on the bronze Churchill. George reckoned the vampires had simply been unable to believe what impossible thing they were seeing, which really was ridiculous when you considered the vampires were, themselves, _vampires--_

Churchill was carrying a walking stick-- not a wooden one, obviously, so there was no telling how effective it might be as a stake. It turned out not to matter very much because, instead of using it to impale the first vampire to accost him, the statue simply snapped the cane upwards and sideways and cracked the vampire across the temple. There was a sickening _smack_ and the vampire staggered and went down. 

Seth, on a high note, demanded "What the _fuck_ is this?" 

Which, in George's opinion, was a mistake since it attracted the attention of Winston Churchill. The statue did not, of course, speak or change his expression, but it wasn't hard to imagine that even the animated effigy of Churchill would take offense at this invasion of the Commons. Churchill lumbered forward as, behind him, a gang of loyal or optimistic or simply very stupid vampires closed in on the rest of the statues. One of them was immediately chucked halfway across the room by Abraham Lincoln, while another was incongruously punched in the face by Mahatma Ghandi. 

In the free-for-all that resulted Mitchell grabbed Clint and startled to hustle him toward the nearest door, which happened to be the one behind the Speaker's chair. George had no idea where it led, but putting a sturdy door between this scrum and the human seemed like a really good idea. Seth shouted something and Gareth and one of the minions went after them. 

Mitchell glanced back, then shoved Clint toward the door and turned to face the other vampires, his lips curling back in a snarl. Gareth responded with a snarl of his own as he strode forward, and Mitchell suddenly looked rather small.

George glanced around for a weapon. Understandably, such things were in short supply in the Commons, but the Clerk's table stood nearby. George ran toward it and picked up one of the heavy wooden chairs provided for the Clerk and his assistants. As Gareth swaggered toward Mitchell and Clint-- who of course hadn't run when he had the chance-- George swung the chair up over his head and brought it down as hard as he could on Gareth's. 

The chair broke, the vampire went down like a wet sack, and George, his blood thoroughly up, turned to the rest of the room and bellowed, "Who wants some of my chair?"

Which frankly sounded a lot more butch in his head than out loud. 

Annie was looking around for something to throw. Up until very recently not even her biggest fan (that is, Loki) would have called on her for support in a fight, but since her discovery of her poltergeist powers things had changed considerably. She gestured at the Clerk's table and a set of large, heavy volumes, probably Hansard, rose into the air and then dive-bombed the vampire melee. Seth, meanwhile, was twisting in the grip of Winston Churchill, Chief Air Marshall Dowding had two vampires by the scruffs of their necks and was banging their heads together, Nelson Mandela and Emma Pankhurst had chucked another lot of vampires into a wall, and in the middle of the fracas two vampires suddenly began to dance around, shrieking, almost as if mice had run up their trouser legs. 

George became aware of a baying roar, and realized that at the same moment Annie had thrown Hansard she had also apparently either released Scamp, or the Grim had taken Annie's action as a cue to, well, unleash herself. The Grim materialized in the middle of the chamber, snarling and raging-- 

\--And that was when the vampires broke. Scared of the Old Ones they might be, but the Old Ones weren't here, and what was in this chamber was scary enough for anyone. There was a general bolt for the exits while Clint and the housemates gathered hastily together, trying not to lose each other. Scamp and the statues chased the vampires out of the chamber in all directions, and in a moment the friends were alone, the sounds of pursuit fading down the corridors. 

"All right," Clint said, trying to sound perfectly calm and nearly pulling it off, "I think we can safely assume they're out of the equation, at least for now. I guess what we do now is find Loki and the witches, get to Downing Street, and try to stop-- "

Clint broke off as more screaming broke out somewhere in the distance. Mitchell spoke for everyone as he uttered an exasperated,

_"Now_ what?"

~oOo~

Agnes, Catherine, Daisy and Loki ran from Trafalgar Square toward Parliament, but by the time they arrived it seemed they had missed much of the action: they could see a group of panicky figures running out of the Palace. As they watched, three of the faster runners broke away from the group--

\-- And were crushed beneath the pouncing paws of a Trafalgar Square lion. 

Daisy let out a small noise of shock, then all of them jumped as the bushes rustled near them. Loki very nearly let loose with a defensive blast, but the bush called out in a familiar voice:

"It's us!"

"Geoff?" Daisy demanded. 

"And Campbell," said a second voice, as the two vampires emerged from the shrubbery. 

"We weren't sure they could tell whose side we're on," Geoff explained sheepishly, gesturing toward the prowling lion, which no longer resembled the friendly creature who allowed children to climb upon him. Loki had no great opinion of the vampire, but he could not blame Geoff for choosing discretion as the better part of valour. 

"Where are Mitchell and the others?" Loki demanded. 

"They haven't come out this door," Campbell said. At Loki's raised eyebrows, the vampire hastily explained, "They were captured and taken inside."

"Indeed?" Loki inquired, in a tone that made both vampires look as if they thought perhaps the lions were the lesser terror. Catherine coughed, a small significant noise, and Loki collected himself. "And are they safe?" he asked, in a deliberately reasonable tone. 

Well, he was trying to sound reasonable. Judging by the vampires' expressions he appeared to be making matters worse. In fact even to his own ears he rather sounded like he was about to offer a choice between fire and the stake. In a final effort to moderate the effect he was creating, he smiled. Geoff whimpered and Campbell looked rather faint. 

Catherine cast a ferocious glance at Loki and seemed about to take over from him, when Loki felt a rustle in the atmosphere and Annie appeared at his side.

"Oh thank goodness," she exclaimed. And then, for Annie was always courteous, she cast a hasty smile of greeting around the group. Vampires being dead had no need of respiration, but Geoff and Campbell both appeared to breathe again. Annie seized Loki by the arm. "Everyone else is still inside the Commons chamber. We were going to come out, but then we could hear that something else was going on out here-- what was going on?"

"Lions," Loki explained succinctly, gesturing. Annie looked over her shoulder, registered the enormous lion prowling before the exit, and made one of her adorable little grimaces. 

"Well done," she remarked. "I assume that's more of your best girl London's work, yeah?"

"Not my _best_ girl," Loki demurred. Annie's expression indicated the silver tongue had said the right thing. Geoff and Campbell's expressions indicated that, from terror, they were perhaps now experiencing nausea. Agnes and Catherine looked patient. 

"Do you think you can get past your little friends and get the others out?" Annie asked practically, and Loki abruptly remembered the small matters of saving the Prime Minister, and possibly the world. "Because we'd really appreciate that."

"As you wish," Loki replied. Annie smiled.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _For fellow North Americans, a reminder that when Annie vanishes and reappears in a different place, her friends call it "rent-a-ghosting," in honour of an old British kids' show. I assume Loki, though he wouldn't have seen the show, has picked up the habit as well._
> 
> _**Warnings:**_ _I am really not very good about noticing when I should apply warnings-- call it a relic of my twisted Seventies girlhood-- so I think I'm going to leave this bit off future chapters, since I'm sure some previous chapters could have had warnings and I just didn't think of it. I'll bring them back if I decide the story needs obvious sexual assault or I kill off a main character. And really, what are the chances of me doing that?_

Annie could, of course, have simply rent-a-ghosted back to find the others. Loki, however, did not know his way around the Palace and therefore needed to be led. 

Also, of course, it was rather amusing to see exactly how the statues were dealing with the vampires. Loki was beginning to fear that under the circumstances it was wrong for him to look forward the show quite as much as he was doing. However, since he had no choice but to walk past them, he supposed he should not blame himself too much for taking a little amusement where he could. 

Annie led the way to the visitors' entrance, where the door stood wide open and partly off its hinges, the statues having either little manual dexterity or possibly no respect for door handles. She led the way through, and Loki followed-- then almost immediately had to press himself against the wall to avoid being run over by several fleeing vampires, pursued by Queen Boadicea in her chariot. He knew he should not laugh, but it was difficult to resist, and anyway not even Annie seemed terribly concerned for the vampires' fate and Annie was a much kinder person than he.

Despite the commotion as they continued down the corridor, none of the statues offered any form of aggression toward them. Indeed, one of them, a side-whiskered gentleman Loki did not recognize-- Annie's murmur of "Gladstone" did not help, since Loki possessed a carpet-bag that, according to Annie, was _also_ a "Gladstone"-- inclined his head in recognition as the two passed by. Loki of course understood that a salute recognized the rank of the officer, not the individual holding the rank, and he returned the gesture on behalf of London, source of the power being acknowledged. 

On the other hand, when they entered the Commons chamber-- hastily sidestepping in response to George's warning cry so as to avoid being struck by a vampire thrown from the public gallery-- all greetings were of course for Loki and Annie as themselves, rather than the power they carried. 

And not only greetings.

"Statues, Loki?" Clint demanded, with raised eyebrows. 

"It was not my idea," Loki replied, with his best expression of innocence. "I merely provided the focus for the City." Loki had read novels in which London was referred to as "the City," he found himself mentally applying capitals. 

"How are you feeling?" Mitchell asked, which was indeed a pertinent question, as they headed for the exit. 

"Splendid," Loki replied. This brought skeptical looks from his friends, who were well aware of the price of casting magic, and also of Loki's fundamental dishonesty. 

In this case, however, he was telling nothing but the truth. 

"I cast no magic, merely channeled what the city wished to use," he reminded them. "And the overflow has left me feeling extremely well. I believe the term is _fighting fit."_ He dodged a vampire being pursued by, incomprehensibly, a medieval-looking gentleman and a _cat,_ then continued, "I believe our next goal is Downing Street, yes? Wyndham must surely have reached there by now."

"I don't suppose there's any chance the statues have dealt with him already?" Mitchell asked hopefully, veering around a tangle of vampires and statues. 

"It is possible," Loki admitted, "but I think it best not to place too much hope in that idea. The City possesses tremendous power, but I am not sure how sophisticated are its abilities to direct that power. It may be capable of only one thought at a time, if you will pardon the expression."

"So we're on our own?" Clint asked, yanking George out of the way as Boadicea rattled past once again. The friends watched the left-hand daughter reach out and clip a passing vampire about the ear, then the chariot continued on its way down the corridor. 

"I fear so," Loki replied in a conciliatory tone. He had no wish to argue with Clint, but no more did he wish for London to find him ungrateful. He hoped the City paid no attention to Clint or his tone.

"And who's going to clear up all this mess?" George asked, glancing around at the broken doors and bits of furniture. The Commons itself was even worse, what with the shattered glass from the public gallery viewing windows and the rest of the evidence of a battle having been fought. 

"Not the time to think about housecleaning, George," Clint murmured, without looking around. 

"I wasn't thinking about housecleaning," George replied, on a high note, as Annie poked him. "I was thinking about getting rid of the evidence." 

"Oh, that," Clint said. 

"I am sure the witches or I can think of a suitable spell," Loki suggested. 

"Convenient," said Clint. 

"Yes," Loki agreed. "We shall ask them when the danger is past. And in the meantime, what has become of your armament? If we intend to deal with Wyndham, those arrows will be needed."

Clint shot a pre-emptive glare at Mitchell, who swallowed hard and looked away. Loki found himself wondering whether Mitchell was still squeamish about the idea of killing a fellow vampire-- understandable, in Loki's view, though obviously a sentiment he did not share-- or whether he continued to believe in his heart that such a powerful Old One as Wyndham simply _could not_ be killed.

Which, of course, remained to be seen. For his part Loki chose to withhold judgment. And for his, Clint elected not to harass Mitchell about the matter. Instead, he said,

"The arrows should be in the bushes, back where the vampires jumped us in the first place." 

"This way," said Annie, gesturing.

The arrows were exactly where they had fallen, along with the bow Clint had also been compelled to drop. With the air of one who is now decently dressed after having been trapped in public in his undergarments (not that he was likely to be rattled by _that)_ , Clint said, 

"Next stop, Downing Street?"

"Yes," said Loki. "But I think perhaps this time it would be wise to have a plan in place first."

~oOo~

The Prime Minister had proved slightly more difficult to overpower than had the guards, but the difference was not enough to offer Wyndham any real challenge, or much relief of the predatory instincts raging through his body. As an Old One his impulse control was greater than a young vampire's, but the fact was he had not hunted in days and had spent the time under circumstances of stress and irritation, particularly when in the company of that pompous fool, Doom. Wyndham had of course comported himself with diplomacy while in direct contact with his… ally, but such diplomacy had included refraining from feeding off any human claimed by Doom. He was feeling the effects now. 

In fact he briefly considered tearing out the Prime Minister's throat in sheer frustration, but remembered the greater mission-- and the possibility of having to explain himself to Mr. Snow-- and restrained himself once again. 

There would be guards at Westminster. The others were under orders to lock them up somewhere away from the CCTV cameras, and also to avoid visible bloodshed. The orders had also specified that taking control of Westminster take precedence over _stopping for a snack,_ which should mean that when Wyndham arrived he would finally be able to vent his frustrations on the prisoners. 

Or, of course, on the other vampires, should it turn out his orders had not been followed. 

And also, he hoped, Loki and his companions. He had not forgotten the soapy floor, and he owed the sorcerer a turn. He recalled with satisfaction the feeling of the alien mind giving way under his own (although apparently only temporarily) and for a moment was distracted. 

_Concentrate._

He returned his attention to the Prime Minister, hard enough to make her stumble as she descended the great staircase before him. She righted herself and continued downward and out the front door, dressed as though for her day's work. As they continued their walk toward Parliament, Wyndham was thinking of the details that still needed to be addressed-- fresh guards would arrive at Downing Street in the morning, who must be intercepted before they sounded the alarm, likewise the large number of humans who would come to work there--

His train of thought was interrupted as the night breeze carried a scent to his nostrils-- nearly familiar, or perhaps half-remembered. Jolted back to the present, he looked up and down the quiet street with a sudden sense of danger.

"Good evening." The deep voice was tinged with amusement-- and with something else, something that acted in Wyndham's hindbrain as a suggestion of the largest rack of antlers, claw marks placed highest on the trunk of a tree. 

The voice belonged to a slender figure standing under a streetlamp. 

_Loki._

Or perhaps… not _quite_ Loki. Wyndham remembered standing in the dungeon of Doom's castle, facing the prisoner. He remembered it very well, and above all his sense of the creature he dealt with. It went beyond scent with Wyndham, he could feel the _vibrations_ of another being. 

This Loki… was tuned to a slightly different frequency than he remembered. It was not merely that he was suddenly far stronger than Wyndham remembered. 

It was that he was in fact a _different_ Loki. Somehow, the Loki who belonged in this dimension had made his way home. 

Wyndham had not lived to be a thousand years old by being slow to make connections. As a part of his mind was acknowledged this as the probable explanation for the escape of the _other_ Loki, the rest of it was ensuring he had the Prime Minister positioned between himself and this Loki, and also his back to the nearest wall. Baring his teeth in a gesture no one would take for a smile, he said, 

"We meet again. Or rather, we encounter one another again. I assume I have you to thank for the incident in Doomstadt? The one involving the liquid soap?"

Loki smirked and sketched a bow. 

"Forgive me," the sorcerer replied, in a tone that, not surprisingly, lacked even the faintest trace of contrition. _He would pay for that._ Wyndham's resolution hardened as Loki added lightly, "Just a bit of fun." 

"Indeed," Wyndham growled. A human would have perceived him as growing somehow larger. "We are now about to see my sort of _fun._ I suggest you step aside."

Loki looked mildly regretful. "I am afraid that is impossible." He paused, pulled a considering face that made Wyndham itch to rip out his throat, then added, "Well, not _impossible,_ not in the sense that I am _unable to comply._ It is more a matter of-- what is the expression the Avengers would use?-- oh yes: _Over my dead body."_

"That can be easily arranged," Wyndham snarled, directing his considerable powers toward the alien. 

~oOo~

As he uttered the words, Loki had a shrewd idea how Wyndham was likely to react to them. 

He was, in fact, rather counting on it: he was now at much closer range than he had been in Latveria, and the sensation of oily vampire magic was so strong it was frankly rather hard to breathe. Even with all the power he had absorbed from London, Loki questioned whether he had the strength-- or, more to the point, even a _technique_ \-- to incapacitate the vampire. And with Wyndham using the poor Prime Minister as a human shield, this was no time or place for experiments.

Or fireballs. 

Consultation with Mitchell had confirmed the single really foolproof means of destroying a vampire of Wyndham's seniority: a wooden stake. Or, as the case might be, a wooden arrow. There being no way to measure exactly how far the vampire's range of power extended, Loki was anxious to prevent him noticing Clint in the vicinity. 

A decoy was therefore needed, and Loki had a certain amount of previous experience in creating a distraction so that someone else-- Thor or the Warriors-- could carry out some heroic plan. (It must be confessed that, in those days, his participation had often been grudging, but now was not the time to regret the past.) He had briefly considered using his old trick of illusory doubles, but discarded it on the grounds that they might cause Wyndham to cast about and discover Clint. The safest route, he thought, was to focus Wyndham's attention upon himself, and try to provoke the vampire into moving into a more vulnerable position. Neither Clint nor Loki had any silly reservations about the propriety of shooting an adversary in the back, should it be necessary to shoot him at all. This being a case that certainly called for shooting, Loki's hope was to make the vampire forget himself enough to drop his guard for a moment. 

Loki was, to use another human metaphor, standing here waving a red rag at a bull, mostly but not entirely confident of being able to dodge if the bull charged. 

And then Wyndham turned the full force of his dark powers in Loki's direction, and it took a real effort not to stagger. There was magic Loki could gather and redirect, even turn back on the one who wielded them. This was not that sort of power. Rather, it clung to him with an almost tangible weight, so that for a moment Loki felt slow and heavy. 

For a split second he experienced a flicker of panic as the oozing dark magic flowed around him. He felt as though he were coated in sticky treacle, had a moment to imagine the effect on a human, wondered whether one's last impression would be that one was drowning in it--

\-- And then he caught his metaphorical balance and braced himself. The feeling of stickiness did not go away, but his momentary disorientation fled. He met Wyndham's eyes, thought he saw a flash of doubt cross the vampire's expression. Given his purpose in being here, Loki felt it was time he pressed his luck.

Pulling his lips back from his teeth, Loki purred, 

"Come now. Is that really the best you can do?"

His vision went grey as the vampire provided incontrovertible evidence that, in fact, _No. It was not._

~oOo~

"Annie, you better do it if you're going to," Clint warned, blinking and shaking his head as if to dispel cobwebs. 

"Are you all right?" Annie asked worriedly. According to the plan, she was supposed to dispatch Wyndham the same way she had done Herrick, but she needed to gather her nerve for the job and Clint's manner wasn't helping. 

"Whatever he's putting out has a hell of a radius. Can't you _feel_ it?" 

Annie shook her head, picked up one of Clint's wooden arrows, and closed her eyes. As Clint watched, she disappeared.

And then blinked back into view beside him, looking startled and frightened. 

"What?" Clint demanded. 

"I can't-- whatever he's doing, I can't get through it."

"You said you couldn't feel it," Clint argued, looking sick and a little panicky. Annie had never seen Clint look panicky, and it scared her. 

"I don't think it's the same thing he's doing to you, and Loki," Annie said. "He's not in my head, it's more like there's a wall around him. It must be something he can do to hold off magic." Which, of course, made sense, in a world where he must have encountered witches by now, and given that he wasn't affected by ordinary vampire rules like needing to be invited into someone's house. Wyndham and other Old Ones must have special protective powers or something. In addition to being able to addle the brains of humans from a considerable distance-- and also, from the look of it, Loki at close range. 

So why wasn't _she_ being affected?

Clint cursed, but Annie's expression suddenly cleared. She handed the arrow back to him and said urgently, 

"Clint, _I am not a corporeal person."_

Clint blinked. "What?"

_"I am not a corporeal person._ Remember that." She turned as if to run, and vanished again. 

A second later she reappeared, down in the street beside Loki.

~oOo~

Counting as he was on Annie appearing at Wyndham's side to stake him, Loki was understandably startled when she instead appeared at his own side. Indeed, only his considerable experience in battle prevented his losing his concentration or giving away his surprise. He could not, of course, _ask_ Annie what she was doing, not in front of Wyndham, but obviously either something had gone wrong or she had thought of a new and better plan. 

Well, whatever the case, Loki would back her. He produced another dangerous smile and turned back to Wyndham. 

"I believe you have not been introduced to my friend Annie Sawyer."

"Oh, we've met," Annie purred, her tone buzzing along Loki's nerve endings like electricity. This was as unlike her normal manner as could be imagined, and was nearly as surprising as her appearance in the first place. To anyone who knew Annie, the effect was rather alarming. 

And also, if Loki chose to be honest… rather alluring. 

He hastily returned his attention to Annie, who was still speaking:

"Mr. Wyndham paid a visit to Tony's home in Scotland. He and I met there." She smiled at the vampire, an expression that would not have looked out of place on Wyndham's own face. "That didn't end terribly well for you, did it?" 

Loki could not remember whether he was supposed to know of this meeting-- it had been a busy few days, and if he had been told, he had forgotten-- but evidently Wyndham recalled it. The vampire snarled, and the temperature around them plunged. 

At the same time, however, Loki also seemed to sense a decrease in the weight of sticky power trying to pin him in place. With a sick sense of horror he looked at the vampire and realized Wyndham was now targeting _Annie._

He was about to panic-- and to hurl every scrap of power he could gather at Wyndham. And then he realized-- Annie's posture had not changed. She was still facing him down, still _smiling,_ the same smile she had worn the night she faced Owen and forever banished his power from her life. A moment later the truth struck him:

_Annie was a ghost._

And there was no reason for the vampire's predatory powers to have any sway over someone who could never become his prey. Annie had realized it already: she, alone of all of them, was completely immune to Wyndham. 

It did not appear that Wyndham had yet realized this. This was not surprising, since he was used to being well-nigh invincible, to all cowering before him. 

He was _certainly_ not accustomed to being mocked by harmless-looking young women. Loki suddenly remembered an occasion, early in his tenure on Midgard, when he and Mitchell had rescued a friend from ill-disposed vampires. They had done this, in part, by provoking the vampires' predatory instincts to distract them from a clear awareness of their surroundings. It seemed extremely likely the same thing was happening now. 

That being the case, Loki decided to add a little push of his own. 

"When you say, 'did not end well,'" he prompted Annie, "exactly what do you mean?"

"Oh, we played a little game of tag," Annie explained, in the same arrogant drawl with which she had addressed Owen. She cast a mischievous glance at Loki and said, "It was great fun. Especially when I tagged him with a dining room chair." Cocking her head slightly, she smirked at Wyndham. "I think that means you're still _it,_ doesn't it?" 

Loki made rather a show of stifling his laughter, and Annie prowled away from him, a little further down the street, casual and mocking and, to the vampire, obviously utterly infuriating. The creature's full attention was now pinned on her, the intensity of his expression reminding Loki of the kittens watching a flying insect in the lounge. Like the kittens, Wyndham looked completely focused and frankly more than a little mad. 

By now the sensation of sticky magic had almost entirely receded from Loki's consciousness. Everything Wyndham had was now, it seemed, directed toward Annie.

Who now remarked, 

"Do you know, I'm not sure where my little dog has got to." With a bright smile, Annie added, "I think you got to play with her one evening in Bristol, didn't you Mr. Wyndham? Perhaps I should call her."

"Perhaps you should," Wyndham ground out. Loki was by now watching him very narrowly, in case the vampire transferred his aggression and frustration to his human hostage. So far as Loki would tell, however, the creature had nearly forgotten the Prime Minister-- his hold on her seemed to be slackening, not that the dazed human was likely to react or even to notice in her trance-like state. 

Loki, of course, was in no such condition. It seemed incredible to him that an experienced villain such as this would so far forget himself, but Wyndham's rage seemed to have totally overpowered his common sense. As Annie strolled away from Loki, Wyndham turned to follow her. Loki, remembering that vampires did not seem terribly sensitive to his form of magic, reached out a cautious tendril of power, felt it loop itself around the Prime Minister. 

Annie turned back and said brightly, "Incidentally, does Dr. Doom know you're out here alone? I mean, have you made sure it's all right with him? I have a feeling he likes to know his people are obeying orders. Loki, didn't you get that impression, too? When we were in Doomstadt, breaking the other Loki out of the dungeon?"

Loki did not reply, because that was the point at which Wyndham lost his composure. He turned sharply toward Annie, who turned to face him. At the same moment, Loki wrapped his magic around the Prime Minister and pulled. Wyndham's grip slipped, the Prime Minister stumbled, and Annie laughed. 

It was definitely the laugh that did it. Instead of trying to get his hostage back, Wyndham snarled and lunged in Annie's direction. 

~oOo~

As Annie verbally sparred with the vampire, Clint felt his own head beginning to clear. There was probably a connection, but Clint didn't have time to think about it. He had nocked an arrow and was tracking Wyndham in hopes of finding an opening to get a shot past the hostage and into the vampire. Annie was deliberately leading the vampire on, obviously trying to turn him so Clint would have the easiest shot possible when the opening came. 

Clint was still addled enough that he was startled when Annie moved her head back like she was laughing, and the Prime Minister was yanked out of Wyndham's grasp and into Loki's arms. Wyndham obviously considered Annie his primary target and he made a move toward her, which left him facing Clint head-on.

With Annie standing between them. 

"Shit, Annie, _move,"_ Clint hissed to himself. 

And then it hit him, what Annie had meant a moment ago when he was too spaced out to pay proper attention:

_I am not a corporeal person._

Oh, Christ. _Obviously, Barton._ Annie was a ghost, and he had never heard that wooden stakes or silver bullets would have any effect on a ghost. Clint wasn't the praying kind, but he did send out a little hope that this was true as he made a final correction to his aim, lining up on the middle of Annie's back, and released the arrow. 

~oOo~

Loki glanced up from steadying the Prime Minister just in time to see Annie's startled expression as an arrow came bursting through her chest and into Wyndham's. Wyndham's suit coat bulged out as the head of the arrow emerged from his back, and for a moment the vampire froze. Loki could imagine the snarl on the creature's face. 

And then he crumbled into ash.


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _I should have done this ages ago but I kept thinking each instance was an isolated incident. Over the past few years, and much to my surprise, several people have asked me whether I would mind them borrowing the Housemates universe for stories of their own._
> 
>  
> 
> _As far as I'm concerned, you don't need to ask, and you don't need my permission. It's wildly flattering that anyone likes this universe or finds it inspiring, and if you want to play in it, please feel free. As far as I'm concerned the rules of fanfic are the same for all of us-- up to and including someone writing an alternate-alternate universe in which Loki, evil unrestrained, corrupts the housemates and brings about the end of the world and the extinction of all rhinoceroses. (Although for obvious reasons, if someone writes that one I probably won't choose to read it.)_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ahem. Onward. Awkward transitional chapter out of the way, at least. Let's hope the next one comes along faster!_

It was, Loki reflected, really just as well the last year or two of contact with his friends had wrought such improvements upon his character. He knew there was still a great way to go if he wished to attain the moral standard of, say, a British primary schoolteacher, but he had at least progressed to the point that he no longer felt compelled to gloat over a fallen enemy. 

Which was a good thing primarily because if he had, he would at this moment be feeling extremely frustrated as he looked at the little heap of ashes that represented Edgar Wyndham's earthly remains. The trouble with destroying a vampire, even one so powerful as Wyndham, was the speed at which the adversary was rendered incapable of reacting to-- or even being aware of-- any gloating by the victor.

And then a little breeze came wafting down the street and Loki stepped carefully aside so as not to get vampire on his shoes. 

"So much for Wyndham," said Annie, and Loki looked up to smile at her. She smiled back. "Bit of an anti-climax, really, wasn't it? Not that I'm complaining."

"No more am I," Loki agreed, and turned his attention to the bewildered Prime Minister. 

"Aren't you one of the Avengers?" she asked, blinking owlishly but clearly beginning to recover her senses. Absent Wyndham's control this was not unexpected but certainly inconvenient.

"No, more of what you might call a supernumerary," Loki told her, and applied the lightest touch of his magic he could muster. "You are having a most peculiar dream, madam. When you wake in the morning, most of it will already have passed from your mind, and the rest will leave you in the manner of all dreams. Now, please allow me to escort you back to Downing Street." He offered his arm, and the Prime Minister, apparently satisfied with the explanation (and really, it made a great deal more sense than the truth) took it. 

It was a few minutes before he returned, having tucked up the Prime Minister and then made a thorough tour of the premises, not out of ill-mannered curiosity (well, not _primarily_ out of ill-mannered curiosity) but to locate the other humans present and reassure himself as to their good health. To his great relief, it transpired that Wyndham had restrained his bloodier impulses in favour of completing his mission, and the various members of staff and security forces had suffered no ill effects Loki was unable to quickly mend.

His last act before leaving was to employ a small enchantment that would ensure none of them remembered anything of the last two hours, including the gap in their memories. Doubtless the Avengers, most of the Avengers, would disapprove of Loki meddling in the minds of humans, but he felt the circumstances justified his action. 

And besides, the only Avenger present was Clint, and Clint was hardly likely to care. 

When Loki rejoined the others, it was to find that Clint, George and Mitchell had caught up with them. Mitchell looked very shaken indeed, as though the shock of Wyndham's death, the death of _an Old One,_ was greater than his relief (under the circumstances) that it had happened. Loki had some experience of events that shake everything one believes about one's world, and he intended to keep an eye on Mitchell in case his friend needed support. 

At the moment, however, it was Clint who drew his attention: the archer's normal air of insouciance was altogether absent, and his expression as he looked at Annie was uncertain. Fortunately, she noticed and took pity upon him. 

"Clint, I'm fine," she said firmly. _"Not corporeal,_ remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Clint muttered. "I was hoping that was what you meant for me to do."

Remembering the look on Annie's face as the arrow passed through her, Loki said rather tartly, 

"It certainly did not _look_ as though she meant for you to do anything of the sort."

Annie reached over to pat Loki's arm. "It's just a strange feeling. Not even a feeling, really, that's what's so strange about it, and it's why I try to get out of the way even though having something pass through me doesn't hurt. I'm fine. I was trying to keep Wyndham focused on me so there was less chance he'd sense Clint out there-- he was powerful enough to scramble brains from quite a distance-- and to turn him so Clint would still have a clear shot at him. That was the plan, and it worked."

"Yes, well," Loki muttered, feeling quite sheepish. He really must remember that Annie, in her own way, was a warrior, and her talents lay in other directions than his. That was no reason to undermine or doubt her. "It certainly did. I apologize to you both."

Annie stepped closer and bumped her hip against him in a companionable fashion. "I think the next thing we have to worry about is clearing up this mess."

"Yes," George agreed, looking anxious. "I wonder how things are going back in the Commons?"

As if on cue-- actually, come to think of it, _on cue_ was certainly appropriate, there was likely no _as if_ about it-- they heard a familiar rattling sound, and looked around to see the chariot of Boadicea approaching them. It occurred to Loki that, as the senior royal among the statues, she might well be coming to acknowledge the power that had animated herself and her fellows in defence of their realm. Rather wishing the witches had arrived to take the role but aware someone needed to do the respectful thing, Loki stepped forward. 

The chariot halted before him, the only sound the clash of the horses' bronze hooves on the street. Loki placed a hand over his heart and silently bowed. Boadicea, her expression so fiercely martial that Loki was momentarily reminded of his father, raised her lance in salute, and then gestured with it, a signal apparently understood by the bronze stallions who wheeled about and set off at a trot in the direction of Westminster Bridge. In the distance, Loki began to see the shapes of other statues walking away from the fray in the Commons-- the stooped figure of Winston Churchill, the shadowy outline and lashing tails of two enormous lions on their way back to Trafalgar Square. 

It seemed fair to assume the Battle for the House of Commons was over. Loki wondered, without a great deal of sympathy, how much was left of the defeated. 

"I suppose we should make our way to the Palace and see what sort of cleaning-up is necessary," he said. It was a callous remark, but Loki only realized _how_ callous when he noticed the expression on Mitchell's face. To Loki, of course, the vampires had always been adversaries, and most of his contact with them had involved efforts to prevent them killing someone (including himself) or forcibly returning Mitchell to their vicious fold. 

He had momentarily forgotten that, for a significant part of his life (so to speak) as a vampire, Mitchell had indeed been part of their community and still felt a certain attachment to them. And he certainly knew what it felt like to know a situation was untenable and yet miss some aspects of it. 

"Mitchell, I apologize," he said helplessly. Mitchell shook his head and made a deprecating gesture, but he was still searching for words when Agnes and Catherine came walking up. Evidently they had heard the exchange, because Agnes cast a sympathetic-looking glance at Mitchell and said, 

"Catherine and I just looked in on Parliament. There was less… damage than you might suppose." The way she continued to look at Mitchell, Loki rather suspected she was not referring solely to the buildings. She went on, "We can look after things there. You should probably concentrate on getting back to your Avenger friends."

Mitchell wet his lips and finally asked, "What about the others-- the other-- "

"No need to worry about them," a new voice spoke up. Loki, who had not heard anyone else approach, looked sharply around as Ivan emerged from the darkness, one arm around Daisy. She exhibited her habitual air of barely restrained violence, Ivan his own of raffish elegance. It occurred to Loki that if one required a definition of the word "louche," an image of Ivan would be all that was needed. 

It also occurred to him that Ivan had conveniently turned up only when the danger was past, although-- considering the fighting had actually been done by animate statues-- Loki supposed it was churlish to hold the fact against him. 

Clint, with his usual eloquence, raised an eyebrow and murmured, "Oh yeah?"

Ivan smiled briefly, but before he could speak, a little grey man in a grey suit appeared-- _materialized--_ out of the darkness beside him. Clint nodded in casual acknowledgement, but the casualness was feigned. Loki, who recognized the same dark magic that animated Ivan-- only in a far greater quantity-- offered a distant smile as he stepped forward. His intent was not so much to claim leadership of their little group as it was an instinctive move to place himself between his friends and the potential threat represented by the little grey… man. 

Who seemed unoffended by Loki's reaction. 

"Hem." The sound was less a cough or throat-clearing than an actual word. "Indeed. My organization had hoped the vampires of Bristol would choose to be… sensible. As that hope turned out to be vain, other measures will need to be taken."

Just for a moment, Loki felt a flicker of sympathy for the vampires of Bristol. 

Catherine, with a sideways glance at Mitchell, asked the burning question:

"What sort of _other measures_ do you have in mind?" 

"Well, to begin with, Seth and I are going to have a _very serious_ talk about who is actually in charge," Ivan replied, his usual lazy aristocratic drawl suddenly absent and his expression hard. 

"I thought being the hard man wasn't your style," Clint said, which seemed to Loki a foolhardy thing to do: prey animals should not deliberately draw the attention of predators. 

Ivan smiled, and though his expression did not lighten there was no sense of threat toward Clint. 

"I've given him the chance to make sensible decisions, and look how that turned out. I won't make _that_ mistake again." 

Once again, Loki felt a moment's sympathy for the Bristol vampires. 

And then he remembered the damage done in the Commons chamber, and the odious vampires making sport of British institutions by their very presence, and he found himself hoping that in addition to directing his powers toward control of his colleagues, Ivan would also administer a good kicking. 

Such a sight would be worth seeing, but unfortunately there was little time to be lost and far more to be done. 

"You will ensure the Commons is returned to its expected condition?" he asked Catherine and Agnes directly. If the little grey… man or Ivan felt slighted, they did not show it, and Loki did not care. He turned to Clint. "Can you contact the helicarrier and determine our next assignment?"

"Sure," Clint replied. He nodded to Ivan and Daisy. "Nice working with you."

"And you," Ivan replied courteously. 

"Invite us over sometime," Daisy suggested in her throaty murmur. Loki reached out with magic, but found no indication either vampire was using their powers on the archer. 

Clint laughed. "Nice try, Daisy." The vampire wriggled her shoulders and winked at him. Loki was still reminded of his nursemaids' adjurations not to play with one's food, but he had to admit, he still found no evidence of danger-- well, _additional danger--_ toward Clint. Ivan and Daisy, while no one's choice of trustworthy companions for a human, seemed content to let the archer go unmolested. 

This time. And, he conceded, Clint was certainly canny enough to bear that distinction in mind. 

As the two walked away into the darkness, Loki suddenly remembered something.

"Oh." He addressed the little grey man. "There are Old Ones. In the deep shelter under Whitechapel. They are… well, they are probably still trying to get out, and they may be very cross by now. Perhaps you could-- ?"

Perhaps it was the dim light, but Loki thought the little grey man looked amused. 

"I shall see what I can do. Hem. And now you really should make contact with your compatriots."

Clint nodded. "Sir." The acknowledgement sounded quite unforced, even to Loki's suspicious ears. The little grey man faded into the shadows, and Clint pulled out his mobile. As he looked up the necessary contact, he commented,

"Annie, you might want to call your dog. We're probably going to need her again."

~oOo~

Doom felt the exact moment Edgar Wyndham ceased to be, and with him any thought of cooperation with the vampires. Annoyance flared in the back of his mind, but on balance this was a relief rather than a blow. Doom was accustomed to working alone, which was far preferable to attempting to collaborate with such a fool as Wyndham. No, this so-called alliance had been a disappointment-- or would have been, had Doom ever cherished any illusions about the likelihood of finding an ally whose power and intelligence matched his own. 

This did not, of course, mean Wyndham would go _unavenged--_ he permitted himself a chuckle at the term-- for naturally the destruction of his ally was an insult to Doom that could not be permitted to stand. 

Fortunately, the means of punishment were near at hand. 

Doom strode from his study, boots striking thunder on the polished (recently polished, as well as thoroughly cleaned of any slippery, soapy residue) floor. He reached a heavy oaken door, a door which to the uninstructed eye would appear much the same as the other such handsome portals in Castle Doom. 

This one, however, was protected not only by locks, but spells. Spells ensuring none but the master would ever enter. 

Behind the door was the great control centre, larger and more sophisticated than the one destroyed in Scotland. If the foolish Avengers believed they had lessened his control of the Doombots…

Behind his mask, Doom smiled. If that was the case, they were about to get a _very_ sharp lesson in proper deference. 

~oOo~

The arrival of Doombots in New Mexico had of course been alarming, especially given that all the evidence suggested that they hadn't _arrived,_ but in fact had been there all along. As the helicarrier's eight engines strained at full power to carry the vessel across the Atlantic with all possible speed, its radar technicians stayed on high alert against the possibility of Doombot action against the helicarrier. 

In spite of the earlier attack, there was considerable doubt about what such action would actually look like on their monitors. The best guess was a large band of small bandits, but SHIELD's sensors were sensitive enough to pick up very small bandits indeed, and from this distance they all looked about the same on the screens. Nobody wanted to waste time, effort, or self-respect in scrambling a response to an incursion of, say, Canada geese. 

In addition to scanning for possible attacks on the helicarrier, an even larger group of agents constantly monitored communications channels from SHIELD and other military bases all over the United States. Again, of course, the information coming from those stations needed to be interpreted. When the first tentative alerts showed up, it was necessary to wait for confirmation of aggressive intent. 

As it happened, they didn't have long to wait.

~oOo~

Even at midnight, the Pentagon was never really quiet, and certainly never dark. Two soldiers on duty at the main gate we the first to hear the high whining sound of a small jet. 

The more senior had just enough time to call in an alert when the explosions started. 

~oOo~

Across the river, Secret Service agents ran for the Oval Office as the weirdly human-shaped attackers swooped down, firing energy blasts. For one heart-stopping second more than one White House staff member thought they were under attack by _Iron Man._ As more and more of the flying attackers made passes over the White House, the situation became clear. Everyone knew about Doombots.

In the Oval Office, the president was putting briefing notes neatly back into their folders and the folders into their document case. He looked up as the first of the agents ran in. 

"Someone better tell me they've got SHIELD on the line," he said, and you would have to know him very well to hear the strain under his calm tone. 

"Yes sir," replied the agent. Then, "Sir, you need to get under cover."

"Right," the commander in chief replied, still sounding cool. He started to close the lid of the document case. 

Glanced back over his shoulder at the table behind the presidential desk, and picked up the family photographs that sat there. 

He tucked the photos into the document case, closed the lid and nodded. "Let's go."

~oOo~

The first person to see the attackers in New York was, naturally, a cabbie. He had just paid for a coffee and was walking back to his cab when the car next to his exploded.

~oOo~

"Do we have any numbers on casualties yet?" Nick Fury demanded as he, Agent Hill, and a cluster of lesser agents strode toward the command centre of the helicarrier. 

"So far none have been reported," replied the agent conducting the walk-and-talk briefing. Quailing slightly under the weight of Fury's disbelief, he insisted, "No reported casualties yet, sir. So far, the attacks seem to be-- "

"-- a way of getting our attention," Hill finished the sentence. 

"Um, yes ma'am."

"That's like Doom, all right," Fury growled, shaking his head. "He has a very strange sense of fair play. It's like him to keep the civilian casualties to a minimum while he's trying to take over the world." He glanced around at the lesser agents. "That doesn't make him a good guy, all right? It just means he has some rules. I really hate those guys that don't have any rules. Are the Avengers in the air yet?"

"Yes, sir. The Quinjets took off five minutes ago."

"With _all_ of the Avengers?"

"Yessir."

"Good. Someone get Barton on the line, we need to check in with him."

~oOo~

Clint, after saying "Yes, sir" for what might have been the dozenth time, provided a little variety with a final, "Right away, sir" as he looked up from his mobile device and turned to the others. 

"So there are Doombot attacks happening in Washington and New York." He paused, looking disgusted. "Seriously, why does anyone even live in New York anymore? It's _always_ effing New York."

"It's been London a couple of times as well," Annie pointed out tartly. 

"Yes, well, so far London's been getting off easy," Clint grumbled. "Seriously, when Dr. Strange turns up again I think we need to have a serious conversation with him about how _some sorcerers_ use their powers to protect their home bases." Momentarily distracted, he added, "I wonder what would happen if Doom or someone targeted _Bristol_ instead of London?"

Loki let out an involuntary growl, Annie caught his arm, and George and Mitchell said together, 

"Rhinoceroses."

 _"So many_ rhinoceroses," Mitchell sighed, looking more himself now the danger--and the little grey man-- was gone. 

"Anyways," Clint said. "How fast can you get us back to the helicarrier?"

"I?" Loki asked, flummoxed. "I cannot return us to the helicarrier."

Clint's eyebrows climbed. "You can't? I thought you could, you know, moonwalk or whatever the hell you call it-- ?"

"I can," Loki admitted, without correcting Clint's terminology. "And I am quite sure you, as a human, would come to no harm if I took you along. The difficulty is, I have no idea how to find the helicarrier."

"I can give you map coordinates," Clint offered, beginning to look as anxious as Clint ever did. 

Loki shook his head. "I have not learned to navigate that way, and I agree it was a stupid oversight on my part but abusing me for it will not help the situation right now." He paused, worrying his hands together, and then brightened. "I can, however, take us to a known location. We will meet the other Avengers in New York. I will take us to Tony's tower in the city."

"Fair enough," Clint replied, and turned back to his mobile. "He'll probably be glad we're there to protect the place for him."

"Indeed," Loki murmured, thinking of the Doombots.

And also of rhinoceroses.


	62. Chapter 62

Give Clint credit: as they emerged from Yggdrasil into the unadorned brightness of Tony's New York dwelling, he did not vomit. 

He certainly looked as if he wished to, and that to a far greater extent than the false Natasha Romanov had displayed after her own similar journey. Whether he was truly more deeply affected, or among friends felt safer letting it show, was a question Loki was unable to answer. There was little time for speculation so he chose not to tease. 

They had stepped from between worlds into the great room of the flat, which like the house in California was almost entirely devoid of comfort, colour, or any sign of Tony's personality. It was all so different from the warmth of the big house in Scotland that Loki found himself reflecting on the idea of protective colouration: the New York flat and the California house had been depicted on the television, and were perhaps places where Tony entertained on matters of business. It was not really surprising that he chose to conceal much about himself from potentially prying eyes. Certainly, in Asgard, the private quarters of the king and queen showed more of their characters than the great rooms where the business of government took place.

As Loki and his companions emerged from between worlds, a familiar smooth voice said, 

"Welcome, Mr. Odinson, Mr. Barton-- all of you. I will notify Mr. Stark of your arrival."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Loki replied. "Can you tell us, has there been any hostile activity around this building?"

"Not up to this point, sir. I have been monitoring police reports and so far all the activity has been to the west of us. I am, of course, on alert for further information."

"Thank you, JARVIS." The tone was that of an officer speaking to his adjutant, which JARVIS fortunately did not appear to resent. Even so, Loki modulated his tone as he added, "Please keep us informed." He turned to Clint. "Where are your Avengers now?"

"Quinjets are in the air, with both sets of Avengers on board," replied Clint, who obviously understood that Loki only cared about the location of the Avengers he knew. However, both sets of Avengers would be important to the battle against Doom, so of course Clint must know the whereabouts of them all. With this in mind, Loki nodded and made pretense to care about the second set. 

Well, in fact, he did care about them, in the sense that he was intensely interested in knowing where they were in order that he might arrange to be somewhere else, but under the current circumstances there were more important things to think about. 

And one of those was--

"Is the other Loki with them?" he asked Clint. 

"I don't know," Clint admitted. "Why do you ask?" 

"I think he should come here." Clint's face did not change, but Loki could almost hear George and Mitchell's eyebrows rise. Annie made fierce faces at them, but Mitchell made a face back and asked, 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really," Loki replied, trying to keep defensiveness out of his voice. He failed, but Mitchell made conciliatory faces and George looked abashed. Reassured, Loki began, 

"So far as we know, the main threats we face are from Doombots, which can fly-- and I cannot."

"I thought you had that knocked," Clint said. "I mean, I hear the dragon thing worked pretty well."

"Yes, for a few minutes," Loki replied. "And then I had to be rescued by an elderly human with a woolly blanket. I would prefer not to go into details right now but it was all rather embarrassing." He cast a severe sidelong look at Annie, who was trying very hard not to giggle. "The point is that my powers, and we may assume those of the other Loki, are not best suited to combating a threat from the air."

Clint stared at him. "What about London? That time the Dire Wraiths attacked Parliament?"

Loki spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of renunciation. "London. That was all London, remember? I merely conducted the power, exactly as I did tonight. I have no reason to believe this city would share power with me in a similar way." He recalled the flash of magic he had felt in the desert near Jane's research station, his brief vision of the mages it might have answered to. In Tony's dwelling so far above the earth he was unable to make contact with the city's magic anyway, but he wondered whether, if he called upon it, it too would ignore him and continue to reach out for the smell of sweet smoke and the sound of the drum. 

Regardless, he could not feel the experiment would be worth the time wasted to make it. Though something must be done to wipe the expression of dawning horror from Clint's face. 

"Look, man, no offense intended," Clint said, and perhaps those last three words were even true, "but if you can't fight Doombots, what exactly can you do to help out here?" _Of what use are you?_

Without looking at her, Loki could feel Annie drawing herself up as George scorched Clint with a glare and Mitchell raised another eloquent eyebrow. Grateful as Loki was for the support, he could not deny Clint's concern had merit. 

Fortunately, he had a response.

"I?" Loki said. "I-- and the other Loki-- will concentrate on Doom himself." Clint blinked, and Loki went on, "He is a powerful sorcerer. I have the greatest respect for the talents of the Avengers, but I am not at all confident of your ability to fight his magic. I am not," he confessed, in a burst of perhaps ill-advised scrupulousness, "even sure I could defeat him on my own. If the other Loki and I combine our powers, however…"

Clint looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then nodded. "Cool. I'll pass that on to the Quinjets. What are you doing?" he asked Annie, as she started out of the room.

"I'm going to see about making a pot of tea while we wait," she replied over her shoulder. "I have a feeling some of us are going to need it."

"Indeed," Loki murmured, as he and the other housemates followed her. 

The first time they had visited Tony's New York penthouse, Loki recalled, they had needed to resort to boiling water in a saucepan to make a cup of tea. And the teabags had been stale. For some reason-- possibly related to himself and his friends, or perhaps Pepper had taken up tea-drinking-- the kitchen was now equipped with an electric kettle, and there was a stainless-steel teapot and container of loose tea in the cupboard above it. There was, alas, no kitchen table, so Loki and his friends leaned against counters and the wall out of Annie's way as she made tea with dedicated concentration. 

When the tea was made, Loki and his friends helped Annie carry it back to the great room, where Clint was just ending a conversation with Natasha. 

"Okay, Tash, you talk to him. I'll update you on Loki's plans as soon as he tells me what they are… Yeah, okay." Clint returned his communications device to his pocket and turned to the housemates. 

"Tea?" Annie offered, holding out a cup.

"Thanks," Clint replied as he accepted, but his eyes were on Loki. "Okay. If I'm going to back your play, I should know what you've got in mind."

"Rhinoceroses at twenty paces," Mitchell murmured into the depths of his teacup, and Clint cast him a half-amused glare before he went on, 

"How do you plan to draw Doom here?"

Loki also gazed into his teacup, where a few stray leaves floated, and wondered what Professor Trelawney would make of them. Then he replied, 

"I intend to sit here diffusing an aura of magic, and so draw him to me. When the other Loki arrives our effect will be doubled, and I fully expect Doom will be unable to resist."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? You're going to go 'won't you walk into my parlour?' and he just _will?"_

Loki looked up, and something in his expression made Clint blink. "Yes, exactly. Doom is not one of your pragmatical spies. He does not like to _lose._ And when last we met, in Doomstadt, he not only lost the round, he looked very foolish in so doing. He will want revenge, and if I am any judge of arrogant half-maddened sorcerers-- _and I am_ \-- "here Annie poked him sharply in the ribs-- "he will be unable to believe a second encounter will not end in victory for him." 

"And you're sure it's going to end in victory for you?" Clint said, sounding a little more dubious than Loki cared to hear. 

"Yes," Loki replied definitely, and then went on-- his voice changing, sounding old and stubborn and faintly lisping-- "Victory at costs, victory in spite of terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be-- " He broke off, coughing. "I beg your pardon, I still had a little London in my throat. Yes. I am confident that, between the two of us, we Lokis can defeat Doom."

"And suppose the other Loki doesn't choose to play?" Clint persisted. It was a very good question, and therefore Loki ignored it. 

"What about us?" George cut in. "What do you want us to do?"

Ah. Loki fidgeted, aware this was the sticky bit. "I think it would be a good thing for you to go home." 

"You what?" George demanded, on a squeaky note. 

"I think it unsafe for you to remain here," Loki replied, heat blossoming through his innards as he took in the expressions on the faces of his friends. "You have… you have done your part. Caring for the other Loki-- " _If he really had agreed to help-- and it sounded as if that was so-- it is because of Annie, George, and Mitchell--_ "your, your connections to Bristol and the vampires there… Wyndham could not have been defeated without you, but now-- "

"But now you're afraid we'll get in the way," Mitchell said. Loki flushed, even though Mitchell's voice was less harsh than his words. Even so, the vampire amended, "You're afraid we'll get hurt."

Loki spread his hands. "I am unsure what you can do against Doom. Any of you-- Clint, I was about to suggest that you rejoin the Avengers, to combat the Doombots."

"I'm pretty sure he can't hurt the two of us," Annie remarked, with a gesture that included Scamp, wagging her tail as she looked up at the group. 

"I… am not," Loki mumbled. 

There was a brief silence, and then Mitchell said quietly, "All right. Suppose we go with Clint, when the Avengers arrive. We can help against the Doombots. Scamp, too-- I have a feeling there's going to be plenty for all of us to do. But you'll call us in if we can help you, yeah?" Loki nodded, although if two Lokis could not deal with Doom he saw little reason to let his friends sacrifice themselves as well. If Mitchell saw doubt in Loki's expression, he chose not to comment. George and Annie looked unconvinced, but mercifully, they did not argue. 

Clint broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable. "Great. I'll get back to Tash and tell her to be expecting us. And see what the other Loki has to say about your plans."

~oOo~

When the call to action came, Coulson would have been lying if he'd claimed not to be relieved. Oh, he enjoyed his rare moments of peace and quiet well enough, but if he was being strictly honest he had to admit he enjoyed them mostly because they _were_ rare. Coulson suspected that if he was an accountant instead of a spy, he'd probably spend his downtime mountain climbing or racing monster trucks or something like that. 

And of course this time the "peace and quiet" was more the "calm before the storm," and when you were waiting for something to blow, it was always a relief when it finally did.

At the precise moment when the alarms went off, Coulson had been trying to decide whether he should ask Loki to wait with Jane and the others until the action started. He was pretty sure Loki would take that suggestion as an effort to get rid of him, to leave him behind, but it was more that Coulson was trying to think of a comfortable place for _both_ of them to wait until they were needed. Coulson prided himself, in an "it's not bragging if you've done it" kind of way, on his ability to remain calm under pressure, but he would be very happy if he could prevent this Loki from running into Othor again, for the sake of his own nerves if for no other reason. So far, Othor didn't seem interested in making contact with this reality's Jane Foster. Apparently, being run over deliberately had finally made an impression, so to speak. Maybe Coulson could convince SHIELD to replace her research truck as a goodwill gesture. Something big and heavy, with a cattle guard on the grille, might be suitable--

At which point the alarm sounded and Loki started violently beside him. It occurred to Coulson that the last time this Loki had heard the alarms aboard the helicarrier, they had probably been directed at him. And the rights and wrongs of _that_ were more than Coulson felt like getting into at the moment. 

"Is the vessel under attack?" Loki asked, voice sharp with tension. 

"No," Coulson replied. "That's the call to battle stations-- it's a response to a threat somewhere else."

"So they will go to fight Doom?" Loki asked, and now he was vibrating a little. Without waiting for confirmation from Coulson-- not that he knew exactly what the alarm was all about, but it certainly seemed like a reasonable guess-- Loki demanded, "And where am I to join them?"

"You still sure you want to?" Coulson asked, carefully avoiding any emphasis. 

Loki bristled. _"Yes,"_ he spat, in a tone of unmistakable sincerity. Which, given the other Loki's results on the polygraph, suggested he was lying. Which was, of course, perfectly understandable, and Coulson would have been surprised if Loki hadn't been at least a little conflicted. 

"Fine," Coulson said calmly, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone and activing the internal communications function so he could find out where they needed to be. "Flight deck. Follow me."

There was enough activity and controlled confusion on the flight deck that nobody paid much attention to their arrival. The Avengers were splitting into two groups and loading into Quinjets. Having gotten mission details as they walked over here, Coulson was aware that one of the Quinjets was bound for DC while the other was going to New York, both intent on countering attacks in those cities. 

Coulson wasn't so concerned with which city he sent Loki to, and he didn't think Loki cared particularly, so long as he got to do _something._ The immediate concern was sending Loki with the appropriate Thor-- which was to say, _not_ the one from his own reality. 

Fortunately, Thor (the right Thor) was looking for them, raised a hand in welcome and gestured them to join him. Without looking at Loki, Coulson led the way. 

"We are bound for New York," Thor explained. "Come with us."

If Loki wished for the assignment to DC, where he had no history, he didn't let it show. Coulson patted him on the shoulder, cast a complicated look at Thor, who returned a complicated look of his own, and then extended an arm to shepherd his not-brother into the Quinjet. 

A minute or two later the jets lifted off, leaving Coulson to hope he'd done the right thing. 

~oOo~

"He wants me to _what?"_ Loki demanded, abandoning his pose of artificial calm. He may have bared his teeth. 

Natasha Romanov glanced at him, then went back to meticulously checking her weapons. Loki had no doubt this scrutiny was redundant, but he was glad enough not to have to hold eye contact with the spy at this moment. She said,

"He wants you to join him at Tony's place in New York. He thinks the two of you can handle Doom if you work together. I don't know exactly how he plans to do that, but I suppose you two can figure it out between yourselves. Magic is your thing, after all." She sighted down the barrel of a firearm, carefully aiming it at no one. The other occupants of their jet-- Thor's Avengers and the one they called Rhodey-- looked on without comment. They did not, however, seem suspicious of his intentions. 

"Yes," Loki agreed, and wondered what the other Loki was thinking at this moment.

~oOo~

"Pacing isn't going to make them arrive faster, you know," Clint remarked. Loki demonstrated his acculturation to Midgard with a suitable hand gesture, and then stopped in the middle of the room. 

"I am going home," he announced. 

"You're what?" Clint asked, and Loki felt an unworthy little tick of pleasure at the surprise on the man's face. 

"I am going back to Bristol for a moment. Would anyone like me to bring something back for them? No? Very well, do not begin without me." Before anyone could protest, or question him, Loki transported himself out of the room and down to the street below and the ground of the realm. Wrapped in a glamour, he avoided notice as he reached for Yggdrasil. 

Moments later, he stepped out in the basement of the pink house, next to the washing machine. He would have preferred to arrive in the lounge or kitchen, one of the rooms that spoke of comfort, but this was no time for distraction. What he needed was here in the basement, in the dark corner-- 

Lit by the cold green flame of his magic was the discarded raiment of the other Loki. Neglected, it smelled no better than it had the last time Loki encountered it. He forced himself to walk over to it, lay hands on the battered leather and wool. There was a simple spell for cleaning, which Loki seldom used since it involved pulling the dirt from the clothing and putting it somewhere else, which only put off the moment when something would need to be cleaned by hand. In this case, since this garb could not be cleaned in the washing machine and there was no time to go through a cycle, the spell was the best Loki could do. The previously-clean clothing in the dryer was now in need of washing again, but that could be left until later. 

When the other Loki's clothing was clean, Loki turned his attention to a box in an even darker corner. He supposed he could have gone to Asgard to look for something to wear, but that would involve decisions and he did not wish to waste the time. Instead, he rooted out the garb he had been wearing when he fell from the Bifrost, decided it was as clean as he needed it to be, and hastily changed. Then, leaving his discarded clothing on the floor before the washing machine, he picked up the other Loki's clothing and made the jump back to Tony's home in New York. 

The looks of surprise on his friends' faces were hardly surprising-- Loki had not worn these clothes since Annie retrieved him from the dustbins, nor had he given any sign of wishing to. However--

"As your expression has it, _when in Rome, do as the Romans,"_ Loki explained, as he dropped the other Loki's clothing over the arm of a chair. "This garb helps me get into the spirit of the thing." 

"What thing? The mindset of a mad sorcerer?" Mitchell asked, and then his face fell as he recognized the implication of Loki's comment. 

Loki smiled. "Indeed. Do not look so unhappy, Mitchell, I am sure it was not my garb that led me to behave like a mad sorcerer, myself. But I must admit, I felt rather underdressed the last time I faced him. Tony Stark may have been right about looking the part." 

"You might be better off making sure he underestimates you," George remarked. 

"Oh, I have no worries about that," Loki replied dryly. "Underestimating one's opponents is, after all, practically the hallmark of the half-mad sorcerer."

"I'm going to assume you know what you're doing," Clint said, pulling out his mobile. 

~oOo~

Loki was unfamiliar with the term "bandits," but given the context he felt able to guess. Tony Stark had just relayed a report of these "bandits" over a place called "Manhattan," and then the back of the aircraft opened and he and the other Iron Man flew out into the darkness. 

"We'll land you at Tony's place and pick up Clint," Steve Rogers said. "Loki-- the other Loki-- will brief you on his plans, I guess."

Loki was also unfamiliar with the term "brief," but under the circumstances he assumed that it meant an explanation of some sort. He bristled a little at the idea of the other Loki explaining anything to him at all, but nodded stiffly. Thor smiled at him. 

"I have no doubt you will both achieve success," he said, and followed the two flying men into the night. 

Left behind with Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, and the human form of Dr. Bruce Banner, Loki could only hope Thor was correct.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:**_ _At this point apologies for taking so long to complete this chapter are redundant. There's nothing wrong, I'm just writing terribly slowly. However, I think we're just about at the part I've been looking forward to writing since I began this darned story! Thank you everyone who's still out there, you are all amazing!_

Even with the Quinjet hovering over the tower, Annie, George and Mitchell remained reluctant to leave. Loki and Clint accompanied them to the roof, where Scamp looked apprehensively at the aircraft and then at Annie, who made a reassuring face at her and then turned to Loki with a concerned expression of her own. 

"Are you sure you want us to leave?"

Loki could not remember the last time he had been so sure of anything, at least not while mostly sane. It was true that he was seldom happy to be parted from his friends, but-- in spite of their undoubted courage and many strengths-- he did not think they would come out best in a battle with Doom. 

"Your skills will be best used elsewhere," he assured her. "We-- Loki and myself-- will deal with Doom." He smiled at her. "Does that not sound like the title of an adventure novel for children? _The Two Lokis Deal With Doom."_

Annie smiled back, but her eyes were troubled. "Just make sure you do."

Clint made a marshalling gesture toward the aircraft. A moment later the Quinjet had landed and his friends were aboard. Loki stood watching as another figure disembarked. 

Then the aircraft lifted and sped away, leaving them alone.

~oOo~

Reluctant as he had been to stay in the Quinjet with the Avengers, Loki found himself even less eager to be left behind with the other Loki, here in this place that held so many hateful memories. 

However. He had pledged his assistance, for whatever it was worth, and had agreed to this. 

Also, and he hated himself for it, a small corner of his heart was still warmed by Thor's assurance of confidence. Most of it, no doubt, was for his own brother, but still…

Near the glass doors leading from the dwelling to the outdoor terrace where he stood, Loki could see the outline of a tall slender figure. With the light behind him no details could be discerned, but the shape was easy to recognize, since it was his own. 

It was his own, and-- judging by the silhouette-- apparently garbed in attire suited to the lost prince of Asgard. The sight was startling for more reasons than one. In the first place, of course, the younger Loki made such play of belonging to Midgard, living in the little pink house with his companions and the little cats, wearing the same clothing as Mitchell and George… it was passing strange to see him dressed again in such clothing. 

And also, of course, it was like looking in a mirror-- an enchanted mirror that mocked him with visions of the past, a time when so much might have been avoided-- 

The figure moved, stepping forward and moving so that the light was no longer directly behind him, so they could each see one another more clearly. The younger Loki's face no longer looked entirely untroubled, indeed he seemed rather tired, but his smile looked genuine as he gestured toward the glass doors. 

"Come in," he invited. Without waiting to see Loki's response, he turned and walked inside. There being little point in standing alone in the dark, Loki followed. 

Inside, he made a point of pausing to look around, as though the place was unfamiliar to him, as though he was ever likely to forget this room. It was exactly the same as the room he remembered-- save for the smooth, unmarred marble floor. He glanced once at the spot where the damage should have been, then glanced away. 

Well, perhaps the room not exactly the same, after all. The younger Loki had crossed to an arrangement of soft seats grouped around a low table. To no one's surprise, the table held half-drunk cups of tea. Loki was reminded of Annie, felt a sudden, rather piercing wish that was here at this moment. It occurred to him that the other Loki certainly felt the same way, which was rather uncomfortable. 

"Tea?" the younger Loki offered, gesturing toward the table. "I can easily fetch another cup."

"Very well," Loki murmured. He felt rather silly just standing there, so he sat down on the sofa, carefully ignoring what lay draped over one of the soft chairs. The younger Loki returned in a moment with the promised teacup and spent a moment fussing with the teapot and sugar. It took a moment for the older Loki to realize his younger counterpart, despite belonging here, was as uneasy as he was himself. Probably that should have reassured him, but instead he found the realization obscurely distressing, evidence that, once again, he ruined everything. 

Perhaps something showed on his face-- perhaps the younger Loki was familiar with such thoughts-- because the other Loki set down the cup within easy reach and sat down in one of the chairs. 

"Perhaps Tony Stark has already explained to you, this is his home," the young Loki began. "One of them."

"I was aware of that," Loki replied, past a dry throat. "In fact, I have been in this room before, or rather its twin." He felt his mouth twist into a gruesome parody of a smile. "It was not an especially friendly encounter."

"No, I suppose not," the younger Loki conceded. "That being the case, I appreciate your willingness to assist me."

Loki snorted. "I owe Doom a turn," he said harshly. "He and his vampire allies." 

"Ah," said the other Loki. "I am afraid I will have to disappoint you there: the vampire allies are no more. At least, Wyndham has met a dusty fate, and his erstwhile minions are even now being brought to heel. They should give us no further trouble."

"Wyndham is dead?" Loki asked, absurdly surprised. He remembered the feeling of the vampire's power crushing his will. _"You_ killed him?" 

"Well, no," the younger Loki admitted. "It was more what you might call a group effort. As the great bards of Midgard would put it, I get by with a little help from my friends." Hastily-- perhaps realizing there was a sting in the word "friends"-- he went on, "In the matter of Doom, however, I think both of us will be needed." 

"And your garb? Is that also necessary?"

The younger Loki flushed slightly. "Yes, well, now you mention it, I rather wished to look the part when I tackled Doom again. Tony Stark once told me it was a matter of style." He glanced up. "Is that not correct, JARVIS?"

"It is indeed," the familiar smooth voice said from above. "I am pleased to see you both returned and well." 

"Thank you, JARVIS," said the younger Loki. The elder, slightly confused in the matter of how JARVIS travelled, nevertheless found himself relieved to know the… whatever he was… was safe. He glanced upward and nodded curtly. 

The young Loki went on, "To return to the point-- it is, perhaps, allowing him more importance than I ought, but-- " He seemed to be having difficulty completing the thought, so Loki did it for him:

"But you wished to face him as a prince of Asgard, not a mortal," Loki suggested. The younger Loki's brow furrowed, and then he nodded slowly.

"I suppose so," he admitted. "Doom is lord of a land of his own, and I find I do not care to see him casting covetous eyes on any other. Particularly not one my friends and I inhabit."

"Yes, well," Loki said gruffly, "given my history, perhaps you should ask someone else to help you. You are, after all, aware of my own efforts to gain a throne for myself. Perhaps you should worry that I might choose to repeat my attempt."

The younger Loki cocked his head slightly to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. 

"I suppose I might," he said finally, "but I do not think there is much danger of that."

"No?" Loki felt himself stiffen, grow larger in the chair in a ridiculous attempt to _loom._ It occurred to him that the younger Loki was probably correct about the value of _looking the part,_ because he felt at a disadvantage in his-- the other Loki's-- light Midgardian garb. 

At the same time he was also conscious of a ridiculous but uneasy feeling of facing, being interrogated by, _himself_ … a version of himself… a self who had taken a different path and made different choices…

The younger Loki leaned back a little in his chair, crossed one long leg over the other, and replied calmly, 

"I know what you did, on both Midgard and Asgard, but I am not at all persuaded that your efforts were sincere. You may recall that I, too, have some experience in the matter of seizing a throne, and I find myself wondering whether our motivations were similar."

_He had done terrible things, too._

_And was given a second chance._

The younger Loki was still talking, sounding calm and thoughtful. 

"Mind you, I was not thinking at all clearly at the time, but I do remember that what I really wanted was not the throne at all. What I _wanted_ was to be _chosen_ for the throne." Loki felt himself settling back into his chair, although he remained almost rigid as he stared at the young face across from him. Which went on, "I wanted to be the heir-- wanted my father to _choose_ me. Of course he did not-- indeed, he _could_ not, not given the laws of Asgard, which I knew perfectly well-- but when I saw my chance I… I thought I could make myself _matter._ That was what I wanted."

Loki sat very still, breathing slowly through his nose. He was unsure whether he wanted to strike the other Loki or weep, but the figure across from him was suddenly blurred. 

It took him a moment to rally, but he did his best:

"And who, may I ask, do you think I was trying to _matter to_ when I launched my attack on this city?"

He had not, of course, forgotten their conversation on the helicarrier, but he had perhaps chosen not to think about how far that conversation had gone. 

"Perhaps not _matter to_ , exactly," the younger Loki conceded. "All the same, you spoke of having a _mission._ And despite the obvious coercion, it sounded as though you were not under anyone's direct control. In fact, if you will pardon my saying so, it rather sounded as if your captors were making use of something within you. Much as, I imagine, you made use of the particular talents of the humans you chose to control."

Loki tried to remember the last time he had hated anyone as much as he now hated the creature sitting opposite him. At the same time, he could not deny the relief of being _understood._

The fact he was finally being _understood_ by another Loki was perhaps not ideal, but he chose not to think about that. 

"Had I found myself in your situation," the young Loki went on, "in the hands of anyone looking for qualities in me to use, I suspect they would have been quite pleased to discover my desire to _prove myself._ Inasmuch as I remember anything at all about my thought processes at the time, I remember wanting to _show everyone._ Which I certainly did, though not perhaps exactly what I thought I was showing them. Regardless, had I found myself in the same hands you did… Well. I am fairly sure the results would have been tragic."

"And you are persuaded that this quality in me was the reason my… well, it is only ourselves here, so let us not mince words-- my _masters_ chose to use me for their purposes?" Loki asked. The younger Loki nodded, still leaning back in his chair, still looking like some sort of warning from his own past. 

"It certainly seems likely to me," he replied. 

It was the air of calm certainty that made Loki suddenly furious. 

Well, no. It was the more the fact the younger Loki was quite right. 

"And you think, perhaps, I would now wish to _prove something_ else to my current captors?" he spat. 

Wisely, perhaps, the younger Loki chose not to argue over that last word.

"You have already made it clear that you are eager to pay Doom back for attempting to make use of you," the younger Loki reminded him. "As you say, there is no one here but ourselves, which means there is little practical reason for you to try to frighten or intimidate me, if only because nothing would suit Doom better than for us to fall out." He hesitated, then went on, "I apologize, though, if I sounded as if I thought I understood your circumstances better than you do yourself. Of course I do not. We have things in common, but not everything."

"No," Loki agreed, still smarting. "You, for instance, had more strength of character than I did."

"My luck was better than yours," the younger Loki corrected him. "I was protected in the void, and so my experience was very different from yours. So far as I knew the void really was empty, except for my own regrets and self-recrimination. It is impossible to say whether the void in this reality is really so different from yours, or whether my experience was all the result of the spell upon me."

"Annie spoke of this… protection," Loki said slowly. "Was this a spell you cast?" 

He wanted that to be the answer, but it was no surprise when the younger Loki shifted in his chair and looked sheepish. 

"No, I was in no condition… at that point, protecting myself was the last thing on my mind. I doubt I would have thought to try before it was too late. The spell was… cast after me as I fell."

_Ah._ "By the Allfather." 

"Yes." 

Silence followed this statement, fortunately unbroken by the younger Loki-- if he had uttered some platitude, Doom might have arrived to find the sorcerer's battle already engaged. Finally, Loki said slowly, 

"And as a result of this spell, you have become… tractable." He could feel his own anxiety and confusion turning into anger as he went on, "The Allfather would of course wish to ensure you were _of use_ to his true son and these creatures of Midgard-- "

As he spoke, Loki could feel the whole matter becoming clear to him. _Of course_ the Allfather had ensured his _pet monster_ stayed under control, behaved himself, was willing to serve the true prince--

Even as he thought it, Loki was aware, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, that the evidence was all against any of this being true of _this_ Loki in _this_ reality. 

The younger Loki was shaking his head gently. 

"Not so much as a result of the spell," he replied, once again choosing to ignore a word he might have wished to argue. "The purpose was not for anyone else to control my actions, but to clear away the anger that made it so difficult for me to control them for myself." 

This time, the rage came bubbling to the surface. "The anger was _yours._ You had a _right_ to it," Loki heard himself snarling. 

"I suppose that is true," the younger Loki replied, looking infuriatingly patient. "It was mine in much the same way as a disease belongs to the patient. Stephen Hawking's amyotrophic lateral sclerosis belongs to him, but one does wonder whether, given the choice, he might prefer to go dancing." Having delivered this incomprehensible statement, the younger Loki went on quickly, "Never mind. My father's actions were high-handed, yes. And I was not consulted, any more than he consulted me when he picked me up as a baby and brought me back to Asgard to be his son. They were two very different circumstances except for the fact that in neither case was I in any condition to make decisions for myself. Of course my mother and father should have been honest with me from the time I was a baby, and honest about the Jotnar instead of letting me grow up believing they were monsters-- but that does not mean Father was wrong to rescue an abandoned baby to begin with. 

"As for the spell-- at the moment Father cast it I was irrational and making a sincere effort to end my own life. At the moment of crisis, he could not think of a better way to save me than to, as you say, deprive me of my anger and let me find a safe place to heal. Perhaps he should have done something else, but his intentions were good and the result was beneficial to me." The younger Loki paused, and then to Loki's horror he directly addressed the real issue between them. Still in a gentle voice, he said, 

"I do not know why your-- why the Allfather in your reality could not or decided not to help you in the same way. I cannot speak to his intentions or his feelings toward you. I have no idea at all how your-- how the other Thor feels about you-- "

"I do," Loki replied, with a stiff little smile. The young Loki winced. 

"But it does not have to influence-- continue to influence-- how you feel about _yourself."_ With a quick smile, he added, "Perhaps _you_ are the one you should seek to prove something to." Without waiting for a response-- clearly he was not stupid-- the younger Loki went on, "And now, if we are to work together against Doom, you may choose to change your clothing or not, as you prefer."

Loki finally looked directly at the green and black garb draped over the chair. It was true that he would cut a far more impressive figure in that raiment than he did in the soft Midgardian clothing he wore. It was also true that he would prefer to forget almost everything that had happened to him during the time he had worn those clothes. 

And, perhaps, one means of forgetting was to wear the garb and give it a different set of memories. 

"I will change," he decided.

The young Loki nodded and rose to his feet. "There are rooms here, down this hallway. Let me show you."

~oOo~

Having shepherded the other, older-looking Loki into one of the bedrooms to change, Loki stood alone in the great room and took a deep breath. _That could have gone very badly indeed._ And probably would have, if he had not tried very hard to imagine what Annie, or the head teachers at his school, would have said in his place. He must remember to thank them. 

The older Loki was gone for a surprisingly short amount of time, and he looked stiff and tense when he emerged. 

"Now what shall we do?" he asked gruffly. 

"Now," Loki said, "we cast a few elementary spells and wait for Doom to come find us. Well, you." The older Loki's already-pale face drained of all colour, and Loki cursed himself for a fool. Hastily, he went on, "At least, he will _think_ he is coming to find you. I do not think he realizes yet that there are two of us. And the last time he encountered either of us, at his castle in Doomstadt, I made him look very foolish." The older Loki's colour was a little better, but he still did not speak. Without waiting for him to try, Loki went on cheerfully, "I encouraged Doom and Wyndham to pursue me, and then covered the floor behind me with a slippery liquid soap I found in a storage cupboard. It was delightful, one of the funniest things I have seen this year. When I encountered Wyndham just now in London, he obviously remembered the incident extremely well. I believe he would have been very happy to tear out my throat for me. One can only hope that Doom will be in a similar state of mind when he arrives."

"I think there is little doubt of it," the older Loki said, in stiff little voice. 

"Yes. So here is my plan, such as it is: I will remain out here in plain sight while you conceal yourself. When Doom arrives I will engage with him first and bait him, which I believe will make him angry enough to lower his guard. Then you can emerge, in what I believe is called a pincers maneuver, which I hope will fluster him enough to extend our advantage."

The older Loki frowned, considering. As plans went this one was more than makeshift, but given the very short amount of time they had to come up with something, Loki felt the most important thing was not to come up with something elaborate, but to be mentally ready to react. In his final battle, Loki recalled, the British admiral Lord Nelson had not offered specific direction to the warships under his command. Instead he had sent a signal to his fleet: "Engage the enemy more closely," and had left the signal flying until the flags were shot away. 

As advice in the current situation, Loki felt the signal had much to recommend it. 

The older Loki, who certainly did not know anything about Nelson or Midgardian naval tactics, apparently felt the same way. He nodded, a tense little smile curving his lips. 

"Yes. Make him angry and remind him of a time he looked foolish. I believe that should work."

Loki had just opened his mouth to reply when, from outside on the terrace, there came a rending crash. He and the older Loki looked at each other, and one of them said,

"What was _that?"_

~oOo~

Tony, Rhodey, and Thor had flown out of the Quinjet almost directly into a cloud of Doombots, and in the ensuing melee Tony found himself chasing one cluster while being pursued by another. He lost track of Thor first, then Rhodey, and then he was high above Columbus Circle, firing at bots and dodging fire in return. He was trying, like a flying corgi, to drive the bots out over the East River in an attempt to minimize collateral damage as he shot them down. 

The initial Doombot attacks hadn't caused anything like as much harm as Tony would have expected, apparently being intended to get the Avengers' attention rather than do serious damage. Now, though, they had definitely leveled up the destruction, making sure the Avengers had to confront them. 

In his ears the communications system relayed Rhodey's voice, cool and professional, announcing:

"We've got a group heading for the United Nations building. I'm in pursuit." _Of course he was._

"Copy," Natasha spoke up from the Quinjet. "Be right there." Thor, also connected to the communications network, said something Tony didn't catch because by now he was over the block that housed Stark Tower, and the mechanical sons-of-bitches he was chasing were rolling over and diving like Stukas toward his home.

_Again._

_Seriously, Dr. Doom, what the fuck?_

Tony was no slouch in the dive-bomber department himself, but he was still outnumbered in a big way. It probably would have been smarter to pull up and let the bastards attack the tower-- it wasn't like he couldn't afford the repairs-- but in the first place, both Lokis were down there, and in the second--

Well. He was really pissed off. Ignoring a warning call from JARVIS-- "Little busy, buddy"-- he swan-dived down toward the attacking Doombots. 

Which, as he committed to the maneuver, promptly reversed and came rocketing back _up,_ right into him. 

"Oh shit," was all he had time to say before there was a confused flurry of motion, a violent collision, and blackness. 

~oOo~

As Loki whirled toward the glass doors he saw something red-and -golden smash into the terrace outside. 

_"Tony,"_ said the younger Loki, and immediately bolted for the glass doors. For reasons he could not adequately explain Loki found himself following closely on his heels, and then standing awkwardly nearby as the younger Loki dropped to his knees next to the crumpled-up shape of Iron Man. 

"Tony?" Loki was saying, a hand on the armoured shoulder as though to comfort, or perhaps dispense healing magic. "Tony!"

The blank metal face shield retracted, revealing the blinking and rather disoriented one of Tony Stark. The younger Loki heaved a sigh of relief. 

The elder certainly did _not._

Glancing from one Loki to the other, Tony Stark babbled, "There are two of you, right? I mean, really two? I'm not seeing double? Double in different costumes, of course, incidentally I approve, very cool, you certainly look the part and I know Doom will be impressed-- "

"Tony," the younger Loki said, for the third time. 

"Yes?" 

"Can you stand?" 

"Of course I can-- " Flailing followed, like an inverted mechanical tortoise, before the human admitted, "Maybe a little help."

"Maybe," replied Loki, with a small smile, as he assisted Iron Man to his feet. "Come inside."

"I'm fine," Tony Stark protested, "just got my bell rung is all. I need to get back-- " He lurched, nearly pulling the younger Loki down with him, and found himself being supported by a second Loki. "Oh. Um, yeah. Maybe for a minute."

"Indeed. Just for a minute," soothed the Loki who was his friend, and the two sorcerers guided the superhero into his home, down the corridor, and into the largest of the sleeping chambers, where he was persuaded to remain ("Just for a minute") under the watchful eye-- or whatever it was-- of JARVIS. 

Back out in the great room, the two Lokis exchanged a look that might have been taken for affectionate exasperation. Then the younger Loki said, 

"Now where were we?"

The air between them began to glow a spectral green. 

~oOo~

He _felt_ it, the surge of magic. Halfway around the world he felt it-- none but the greatest of sorcerers could have done so. 

He felt the magic, remembered the feeling from the other times, the earlier encounters-- from the scrying bowl, the dungeons under Castle Doom-- and he knew his quarry had carelessly expended magic, had revealed himself unawares. 

It was now only a matter of time before Doom took his final revenge. 

A _very little_ time. 

Gathering his own magic around himself, Doom stepped into the shadows.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:**_ _You know what, it's surprisingly difficult to describe the aesthetic of Tony's New York penthouse without using the word "stark." Also, there is an element in this chapter that I've been thinking about since long before the movie it actually appears in. Bit weird._

Doom emerged from the shadows into a great, eyrie-like room with high ceilings, marble floors, a stone fireplace and a wall of windows that looked out upon the lights of the city. It was a far more suitable abode for a prince of Asgard than was the dingy little house in England. 

Doom was perfectly well aware this dwelling belonged to the upstart Tony Stark, but with Stark presumably fully occupied with Doombots high above the city there was little need to think about it. This was where he had followed the thread of magic, and so this was where he would find-- 

"Good evening." The voice, a deep purring rumble, came from a corner of the great room near the fireplace. Doom suppressed a startle-- he was quite sure no one had been there a moment before-- and slowly turned. 

To face Loki, lounging in an armchair like a tiger upon a sunny rock and gazing at Doom with an expression of hard-edged, predatory contempt. Doom bristled under this regard, though of course his iron mask concealed it. _The arrogance of the creature._ Well, he would have the final word. 

"Welcome," the Aesir drawled in a rather different voice, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Feel free to walk about, the floor is quite dry." 

"Yes," Doom replied, in a deep and awful tone. "You may live to regret your little joke."

Loki shrugged, the smile broadening. Light from the fire danced across his face, making the smile seem to twist in mockery. Beneath his gloves, Doom's hands itched to strike a blow that would wipe the expression from the sorcerer's face. 

"I hardly think so," Loki said. "I am after all the God of Mischief, dear boy. And you really did look very funny." 

Once again, Doom concealed a spike of rage, hot and strangling, combined with sheer hatred that this _nothing_ dared to make sport of _him._

A memory rose before his eyes of the same creature, humbled and helpless, trapped in the cell at Castle Doom. He would _long_ for the cell, for its safety and quiet, when Doom had finished with him. He would wipe the smile from the creature's face and silence his cursed mocking tongue--

At the edge of his consciousness, Doom thought he sensed another living presence nearby. _Servants,_ he thought, dismissing the input as irrelevant and focusing entirely on his sneering adversary. 

~oOo~

Doom was indeed a very powerful sorcerer. Loki willingly acknowledged it, since no good ever came from underestimating an adversary-- if he had carried one lesson back with him in his turn away from evil, it was that. In this case Doom's power had actually worked against him: alert as he was, both Lokis had been able to sense Doom's approach in time for the elder to conceal himself in a chamber down the corridor, and for the younger to deliberately cast a spell that magnified the enchantment they had set as a lure for Doom, effectively (he hoped) masking the presence of the second Loki. 

_Won't you walk into my parlour,_ Loki thought, and hoped the fly they hoped to catch would not turn out to be too much of a mouthful. In a manner of speaking, of course, Loki having no desire in his current form for such a feast. 

Hastily banishing these frivolous irrelevancies, Loki waited for what he judged to be the ideal moment, then dropped his veil of invisibility and spoke. 

"Good evening." He was quite aware that he sounded like Count Dracula in an old Hammer Studios film-- indeed, the effect was deliberate: his plan being to tease Doom into forgetting himself, he considered that his best course was to make himself as obnoxious as possible. 

Fortunately, as a younger brother he had centuries' worth of practice in exactly that sort of behaviour. 

Doom concealed it well, but he was taken by surprise and Loki could see he resented it. 

"Welcome," Loki went on, once again adjusting his voice to suit the character he wished to play, dropping to the bottom of his vocal register. This was a ploy he used when he attempted to intimidate someone, but at the moment his intention, and therefore his voice, was quite different. Rather than his own voice bristling with spite and anger he borrowed that of Shere Khan, oozing villainy, as he continued to speak. 

It really was anyone's guess whether Doom recognized the voice of the Disney tiger, but there was no doubt that as Loki continued to speak the villain was becoming angrier and angrier. It was _extremely_ amusing, and also a bit of a balancing act: Loki was trying to provoke Doom to rashness without pushing him all the way into violence. Frankly, _"dear boy”_ (borrowed from the actor who played Gandalf-- a man who Loki judged to know something about mischief himself) was very nearly a step too far-- for a moment Loki thought Doom really would lash out at him. With the words said, all Loki could do was continue to play forward, and Doom fortunately maintained his self-control. 

Doom, with a visible effort he probably believed was imperceptible, recalled himself to the present, and to his intention of impressing Loki without how very terrifying he really was. Since he was, in fact, legitimately rather terrifying, the effect was in truth a little daunting. 

On the other hand, Laufey-King had been even more terrifying, and Loki had suppressed his fear long enough to manipulate him to his death. The trick was to keep Doom distracted, off-balance, to prevent him from asking himself why Loki was indulging in verbal sparring like this, rather than doing something more constructive. 

As he faced Loki, Doom was drawing himself up--inflating, almost, rather in the manner of an infuriated chicken. Which analogy fortunately struck Loki as hilarious and thus kept him from concentrating on exactly how much trouble he might be in if this was all a miscalculation. 

Through what had to be clenched teeth, the masked villain snarled,

"You were not nearly so proud when I held you as a prisoner at Castle Doom."

"Oh, that." Loki favoured Doom with another condescending smile, then sat up and leaned forward, one elbow on the armrest of the chair and his chin in his hand. "Yes, indeed, your dungeons were most intimidating. Quite terrifying, in fact. I wonder, though… there is one question you do not appear to have asked yourself." He was very nearly quoting Annie's question to her own adversary, Owen. The realization gave him a little extra courage. 

Loki paused, one eyebrow raised, his expression the best approximation he could manage of a teacher waiting expectantly for a student to respond to a question. A dull student, the expression suggested, one who needed a great deal of encouragement but who might one day, with a great deal of work, master the simpler lessons. 

Without waiting for Doom to respond, Loki then supplied the question for himself:

"You do not seem to have asked yourself exactly how I was able to escape from your cell."

Doom went very still. It was abundantly clear he had not, in fact, given the matter any thought at all. As he did so now, Loki continued to sit with his chin in his hand, like the Djinn in charge of All Deserts thinking a Great Magic. His expression (bright-eyed and now with both eyebrows slightly raised) managed to suggest encouragement to the dull pupil, as though they both knew that, whatever Great Magic he was thinking, Doom would surely be too slow and stupid to think of it himself. 

Behind the steel mask Doom was certainly hot with rage-- Loki briefly imagined his adversary as a teakettle about to come to the boil. Before he actually began to whistle, Loki sat up straighter, steepling his fingers in his best imitation of a supervillain about to cackle. 

"Shall I tell you?" 

~oOo~

"What's going on out there, JARVIS?" Tony demanded. 

"Mr. Odinson is having a conversation with Dr Doom, sir," JARVIS replied, in his usual imperturbable tone. 

_"Just_ 'Mr. Odinson'?" Tony demanded, grasping the significance at once. He made an effort to get up-- the Lokis had parked him on the bed, which surprisingly had not collapsed under his weight-- and found himself once again trapped like a turtle on his back. The collision with the Doombots had done an alarming amount of damage to the suit, and his arms and legs had seized up. Cursing, Tony let himself fall back and addressed JARVIS again. "You mean our Loki, right? What's the other one doing while our Loki fights Doom?"

He was aware of a strange muffled sound to his own voice and realized it was going no farther than the inside of his helmet. Which, since he was only talking to JARVIS, didn't exactly matter, but since his external speaking function had been working a minute ago that meant someone had turned it off. And it hadn't been him. 

"JARVIS, buddy, what's going on?"

JARVIS sounded a little less imperturbable when he replied-- in fact, he sounded a tad perturbed. 

"Please remain here and do not make any noise. Mr. Odinson and… Mr.Loki have a plan to deal with Doom."

"What plan? Come on, JARVIS, you can’t expect me to just lie here doing nothing." JARVIS, heroically, didn't point out that Tony didn't have much choice in the matter, what with being unable to move and all. A nasty little suspicion tickled the corner of his mind. "JARVIS, buddy, is the suit really seized up, or is some of this you?"

For a second he thought JARVIS was going to get huffy and refuse to answer, but after a few seconds' pause he said in a placating tone, 

"Mr. Odinson and Mr. Loki are quite confident in their plan, but I believe they are both concerned that you might be vulnerable to injury if Doom becomes aware you are present. It really is best if you remain here quietly."

"But what are they _doing?"_ Tony persisted, his anxiety leaking into his voice. JARVIS, obviously recognizing that not knowing was always worse, sighed audibly. Then he reactivated the heads-up unit in the helmet and patched it into his penthouse A/V systems. 

Visuals came up first and Tony found himself looking at an image of Doom, standing in the middle of his great room. For a second he couldn't find Loki. Then he followed the direction of Doom's attention toward the big chair by the fireplace. There was Loki, lounging as though he hadn't a care in the world. 

Then the audio came up. A few seconds later Tony blurted, 

"This is his plan? _Teasing_ Doom? Like, 'Go away or I shall taunt you a second time'? Is he _kidding?"_

JARVIS was dry. "Shall I pass along your feedback? 'Mr. Kettle, I have an urgent message for you from Mr. Pot'?"

It took Tony a second to translate that. "Don't be snarky, JARVIS."

"I have the impression he has had several centuries' worth of practice at this sort of thing," JARVIS pointed out patiently. 

Good point, Tony realized. And probably a good reminder, given the way the Avengers, and, okay, probably Tony in particular, tended to treat Loki like the whole team's little brother. 

"Yeah, but, where's the _other_ Loki? Why isn't he helping?" 

"I believe he has not yet received his cue," JARVIS replied. "Try not to worry, sir."

Tony chose to ignore the condescension. For now. "All right, but if it's you has my suit locked up I want you to unlock me if Loki needs me, okay? He doesn't get to take all the risks in _my_ house!"

"Agreed, sir." If JARVIS had hands, he would definitely by patting Tony on the head right now. Absolute power seemed to have gone to his circuits. Well, they could talk about that later. For the moment, turtle-Tony resigned himself to his role as a spectator. 

~oOo~

Doom, Loki considered, really needed to work on what Mitchell might call his "poker face": even with the mask in place it was obvious his mind was racing. 

Before Doom (who, in spite of his flaws and Loki's expression, actually was _not_ so slow as all that) could hit upon the answer-- and perhaps take back some control over the conversation-- Loki provided it himself. 

"How did I escape from your cell? It was really quite simple." He smiled, waited a beat, and then explained kindly, _"I was never in it in the first place."_

Doom was startled enough to respond. "You were-- ?" He cut himself off but the damage was done. 

Loki's smile broadened. "I was never in it in the first place. Oh, I was the Loki responsible for the soap incident. The one who tricked you into chasing me so that my human confederate could rifle your chambers for information to take back to the Avengers." He paused to give Doom a chance to register his words and then purred, "The one who concealed himself within the magic of your realm and used it to breach the guards on your cell, and so free the other Loki."

_"You?"_ Doom demanded, in a tone that might have been frightening to someone else-- someone with less extensive experience of _pushing his luck._

"Me," Loki replied, ungrammatically. "You did not really think banishing me to a different reality would keep me away for long? Come, come, Von Doom. I have things to do, places to be-- "

_"Humans to serve,"_ Doom spat, apparently having reached the limit of his endurance. Loki cocked his head inquiringly, which seemed to enrage Doom still further. _"You,_ with your powers-- you could make these simpletons _kneel,_ you are _royalty,_ and you behave as though you are their _servant--"_

Loki shrugged. "Well, you see, their children are terribly amusing."

"You could _rule_ in this world!" Doom shouted. Loki carefully did not wince, and hoped the other Loki-- who, if his story and those of the others from his reality could be believed, had some experience of how that sort of thing could turn out-- was not listening. 

He kept his tone calm as he replied, "Not so much _rule_ as _reign,_ I think, which is another matter entirely, would you not say?" The blank steel face stared at him and Loki looked disapproving. "Come, come, Doom. You are yourself the leader of a realm. Only children believe that to be ruler is to have all one's wishes granted, with no one to answer to." _Well, depending on how one defined "children,"_ a corner of Loki's brain reminded him. Since that corner was making a point that Loki-- and his brother-- had long since learned, he shushed it. 

And then, partly because he thought it might irritate Doom, he switched into a female voice with the sort of _cut glass_ accent one almost never heard anymore, and recited, "I declare before you all that my whole life whether it be long or short shall be devoted to your service." Doom rumbled, rather like a very angry dog in a very deep well, and Loki shrugged. "Well, you must concede the sentiment seems to have worked out rather well for Her Majesty. By human standards her reign has lasted a great deal longer than yours."

He chose not to mention that his own reign, in Asgard, had lasted only a third as long as that of Lady Jane Grey, although fortunately in his case had ended with his head still affixed to the end of his neck. Doom, perhaps unsurprisingly, scoffed at the notion of such civic responsibility on the part of a monarch. 

"You should not be _tame,"_ Doom insisted, and to Loki's carefully concealed astonishment there was real emotion in the sorcerer's voice. Apparently this was personal to him. "You should be a _wolf,_ not a _dog_ to do their bidding." Doom's voice was filled with contempt.

Now, it was true that, Scamp notwithstanding, Loki was more a cat person than a dog person. And it was also true that for much of his life dogs had made him uncomfortable, so earnestly eager were they to do right and _be good._ The Midgardian dogs of his acquaintance were even more inclined that way than those he had known in Asgard. 

Even so, and perhaps this was a result of his own very recent attempts to do the right thing (when he was able to determine what that might be) he found himself offended when someone used "dog" as an insult. Especially the sort of insult that referred directly to the very characteristics of the animal that were of most use to the beings who uttered the insults. 

Vaguely conscious that this train of thought was apt to become distracting, Loki banished it-- and the far more entertaining prospect of what Doom might make of a meeting with Scamp-- and merely remarked, 

"Once again, there is that matter of power and responsibility. If I choose to accept a certain amount of the latter, that is surely my affair." Dropping his lighthearted tone and adopting one that would have sounded familiar to the vampires of Bristol, he went on, "And should I find myself in need of guidance on such choices, I have any number of suitable counsellors to consult. I should hardly choose to seek advice of a third-rate mountebank who lords it like some would-be medieval princeling over a third-rate demesne that has not yet discovered the internal combustion engine."

As he spoke, Loki was perfectly aware his description of Latveria was both unjust and inaccurate-- although he stood behind both "mountebank" and "would-be princeling," and he should know-- but his purpose was to be inflammatory rather than fair. 

As he spoke he was readying himself to parry a possible attack by Doom, because who could blame him. Instead, to Loki's joy, Doom indulged himself with a verbal response:

"You might perhaps choose to accept one piece of advice." Loki obligingly adopted his best interested-listener pose, and Doom snarled, "You should exercise a little more caution when you do not have your _friends_ here to support you."

As entrance cues went, this would be difficult to improve upon. Loki mentally crossed his fingers. 

"Well," he said brightly--

\--and from behind Doom the same voice, in a rather different tone, went on, 

"--Now that you mention it-- "

Doom whirled, and this time he did fire a bolt of magic, in a gesture that might have spoken of exasperation as much as aggression. The other Loki batted it aside with a contemptuous smirk and strolled forward, stopping a few paces into the room, before Doom was apt to feel crowded. 

Loki, concealing his relief, gestured toward his older double and murmured, "I believe you two have met."

"Indeed," the older Loki purred, and he really did sound like Shere Khan asking after the man-cub. Loki found himself hoping his ally remained in control of himself, since it was no part of their plan to destroy Tony Stark's tower with all of them-- including Tony-- in it. The older Loki's smile was a thing of sharp edges and exposed teeth. "I was his guest for a brief period. I have not yet properly thanked him for his hospitality."

~oOo~

"Okay, JARVIS, if these three are going to blow my house up, I would really prefer not to be stuck here like this when it happens. Whatever you're doing to the suit, knock it off!"

"I'm afraid not," JARVIS replied, sounding distracted-- which, considering what was going on in the living room, was understandable. Even while he was complaining, Tony couldn't take his eyes off the heads-up display. "Sir, you really are in no condition to intervene."

"Dammit, JARVIS-- "

~oOo~

Doom stepped forward and to one side, endeavouring to put himself in a position from which he could watch both Lokis. The elder countered the move with a sidestep of his own, still smiling that unnerving smile. 

"I am only sorry to have been unable to express my _gratitude_ to Edgar Wyndham as well. I fear I have missed my chance."

"Sadly true," the younger Loki agreed, holding himself ready to dodge out of the chair the moment any violence began. For the moment he was content to remain still, in the hope Doom became distracted enough for Loki to be able to deal a decisive blow on the sly. 

He was quite aware this would be an underhanded, sneaky thing for him to do, and not only as a representative of Asgard: the films of this realm (to say nothing of Steve Rogers) spoke with disapproval of "shooting [an enemy] in the back." It was simply not done. (Unless, of course, one was Natasha Romanov or Clint Barton, but Loki had no special desire to model his behaviour on those two.)

Loki's current attitude was that, if possible, he would prefer not to shoot anyone at all, but should it become necessary he had no preference about where or how he did so. Chivalry was for sporting events. 

The older Loki took another step forward and to one side. Doom countered with another step backwards to maintain his position relative to both Lokis, although with one of them deliberately stationary he would not be able to do so for much longer. 

Above their heads came a sudden burst of music. 

~oOo~

A moment earlier, Tony had lost patience. "Is this a superhero battle or a dance-off?"

JARVIS, heavily patient, asked, "Are you asking me to provide appropriate music?"

In fact, the thought hadn't crossed Tony's mind, but now that JARVIS mentioned it-- 

"Why not?"

~oOo~

_"Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk_   
_I'm a woman's man, no time to talk-- "_

All three combatants suppressed any surprise at the falsetto voice above them. The younger of the Lokis made a mental note to have a word with Tony Stark about his sense of humour. And possibly also his musical taste.

~oOo~

"JARVIS!" protested Tony, who shared Loki's opinion of the selection. "What the hell, JARVIS?"

JARVIS was unrepentant. "You requested music for a dance-off. Can you really say this is an inappropriate choice?"

_"Appropriate_ isn't the problem," Tony groused. "Seriously, if this all goes sideways and the last thing I ever hear is the fucking Bee Gees, I am going to haunt you _so hard."_

"I am sure that will not become necessary, sir."

~oOo~

_"You know it's all right, it's okay_   
_And you may look the other way-- "_

Afterward, Loki thought, he would make sure to tell Tony it was his own fault when open violence broke out: they had not even reached the first chorus when Doom-- possibly believing he was being mocked, possibly correctly-- threw another, larger bolt of magical energy at the older Loki. 

Who, once again, batted it away but this time followed up with a fluid gesture (strangely coordinated to the music) that ended in a green flare of his own. Doom raised a hand and seemed to absorb the charge into his gauntlet. Loki, sensing what was about to happen next, rose to his feet and cast a shielding bolt of magic toward the elder Loki. The green haze arrived just in time to repel Doom's counter-curse, which ricocheted with unfortunate results to one of the great windows overlooking the city. The glass shattered outward, a glittering mass, and Doom spun to encompass both Lokis in his next attack. 

Loki knew that Doom was powerful. He now realized that he had badly underestimated exactly how powerful. Had it not been for the infusion of magic he had received in London, and which was still propping him up to some degree, he would have been at a serious disadvantage. Another question was, how much strength did the older Loki have right now?

His strength might be questionable but his anger was not: as the room glowed red with Doom's magic, the elder Loki responded with another green flare that twined itself around Doom's bolt, altering the direction just enough to miss its targets. 

Admittedly, it looked very festive, but the effect was rather like setting off a firework inside a bottle. The heavy wooden bar exploded, along with the bottles upon it, shards of glass flying in every direction and liquor spraying everywhere. Loki spared enough attention to wince at the damage to Tony's home.

~oOo~

"Dammit!"

"Please remain calm, sir."

"Easy for you to say, that's not your single malt!"

~oOo~

Doom stumbled a little as another green flash danced across his shoulders, then straightened up, squaring his shoulders. He faced the broken window, and Loki was conscious of something being directed out into the night, before either of the Lokis could stop him. 

A moment later, coming closer and barely audible over the music ("Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother/ You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive"), there came a sort of humming droning noise. It sounded familiar.

Loki had just recognized the sound when a wave of Doombots came flying in through the open window, blasters firing.

_I am very sorry about this, Tony._


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** _I am so sorry this chapter took so long, even for the Fic That Will Not End! My writing time over the summer got eaten up by work on a couple of systematic reviews (on the benefits of pet therapy for stressed college and university students) and the story got back burnered. Thank you for your patience, everyone out there!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, once again Bruce Springsteen is the cure for all ills. Really._

The quinjet was designed to function as a troop carrier as well as an attack craft, so Annie and her housemates parked themselves on one of the jump benches well out of the way, Annie holding Scamp on her lap. The aircraft wasn't nearly as crowded as it felt, but the aircrew and the Avengers were all busy with their own tasks and Annie, in particular, was increasingly convinced that leaving Loki back there was a mistake. 

No, not leaving Loki _back there_. Just _leaving him._

The quinjet banked sharply and the boys grabbed for handholds as they were thrown against their safety harnesses. Steve and Natasha opened up at their gunnery stations and the cargo hatch at the rear of the plane began to let down as Bruce pulled his shirt over his head and began to turn green. Annie, clutching Scamp so hard a live dog would have yelped, looked out the window nearest her and saw glimpses of Doombots flashing by. 

At first it was all confusion, just a scrum, but as she watched Annie began to realize the Doombots were more organized than that: when disrupted by fire they scattered like a flock of birds, but like a flock of birds they re-formed, always heading in the same direction. 

Back toward Tony's penthouse. 

_Leaving Loki-- the Lokis-- was a mistake._

Annie turned to George beside her. 

"I'm going back," she announced. 

"What?" George squawked. The squawk caught Mitchell's attention. 

"What?" he demanded. 

"Annie's going back," George said, at the same moment Annie repeated, "I'm going back," and then clarified, "I think that's where those Doombots are going. I'm going back to help."

"Good idea," Mitchell said.

 _"Good idea?"_ George shouted. 

"Don't tell me you haven't been sitting here worrying," Mitchell argued. 

"Well, yes, but suppose Doom has powers against ghosts?" George argued back. 

"One way to find out," Annie replied, and stood up. The quinjet gave a lurch. Annie stumbled, an annoying little holdover from when she was alive, and grabbed George's shoulder to steady herself. 

"Be careful," George said. Annie smiled at him, and she and Scamp vanished. 

~oOo~

The wave of Doombots was overwhelming, and probably would have ended the battle on the spot if the resulting congestion in the room had not led several of them to blast each other instead of the Lokis. In fact, in what would have been a deeply pleasing irony, several of their shots only narrowly missed Doom himself. 

Discretion apparently being the greater part of valour, Loki felt himself being grabbed by the shoulders by his younger self, and bodily pushed down behind the wreckage of the bar. Loki spared a fleeting moment to mentally congratulate the younger on their choice of garb, the heavy Asgardian wool and leather being far better protection against shattered glass than the flimsy Midgardian garb. 

Against broken glass, yes, but not against energy beams. A Doombot blast hit the remains of the bar above them, showering splinters over them and incidentally setting the spilled liquor alight. Rolling to his left, Loki glanced over to see the younger Loki rolling to his right in what might have been a coordinated maneuver. _Good._

He was about to scramble to his feet when, from above his head, the infernal voices wailed _"Stayin' aliiiiii-iiiiii-iiiiii-iiiiiive"_ and he decided enough was enough. 

"JARVIS!" he shouted, abandoning any attempt at courtesy.

~oOo~

 _"See?"_ Tony demanded. To his relief, the Bee Gees were silenced. 

The relief was momentary: the next sound from the speakers was drums and harmonica. Tony had just time to utter a profanity when the mushmouthed vocals began.

~oOo~

_"On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert--"_

"Thank you, JARVIS," Loki said scrupulously, then vaulted to his feet, casting a blocking charm against a Doombot as he did so and looking around for Doom. Let the younger Loki concentrate on the Doombots, he had a particular score to settle with their master. 

The caped and masked figure was not immediately visible, and Loki wasted both time and magic defending himself from Doombots while he looked for his quarry. The coward preferred to hide behind his mechanical servants, did he? Too filled with rage for caution, Loki strode into the middle of the battle, swatting aside Doombots like so many insects, entirely careless of his own safety. 

_"Doom,"_ he shouted. 

~oOo~

"Oh hell no," Tony moaned, watching one of the Lokis-- the older and less stable one, he was pretty sure-- burst out of cover and draw fire from the Doombots. "He doesn't even _like_ Thor, it's not like they even fight the same way, what the hell is he _doing?"_ he demanded of JARVIS. 

He didn't get an answer, and in fact hadn't expected one. They all knew the older Loki was on a knife-edge and getting ready to topple over. Tony counted them all lucky it hadn't happened before now. At least now, if he got himself blown to bits, he'd at least be taking some of the enemy with him. 

Tony didn't want him to get himself blown to bits. 

"JARVIS! Joke's over, JARVIS," he called, struggling against the locked joints of his suit. His efforts were useless, and he fell back, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth against a rising wave of frustration. "JARVIS. Let me up. Now." 

Ordinarily, commands to JARVIS (like those to the bots in his lab) were accompanied by comically overblown threats. This time there were no threats, because this was no time for foolishness. 

He heard a muted whirring noise. Tony made an experimental effort, and his left arm moved. He tried his right leg: same result. The suit felt different, heavy and stiff like he imagined an actual suit of armour would feel, but at least he could move. 

Slowly and clumsily, like a turtle.

"Is this still you, JARVIS?" he asked, without any real hope. 

"I am afraid not, sir," JARVIS replied. "The suit was badly damaged in the crash."

"Do the repulsors still work?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good enough." With a final determined heave, Tony rolled off the bed and landed-- _thank God!_ \-- on his side. After some more clanking and thrashing, he managed to lever himself upright. The knee joints of the suit didn't seem to have full range of motion and the left one felt like it might stick again if he tried to bend it. The hip joints, fortunately, seemed to be more or less okay, which meant that-- as long as he was very careful of his balance-- Tony could walk. Okay, his wide-legged stance was reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster-- or a baby with a wet diaper-- but he was moving toward the action.

Yeah, if Doom and his backup band were planning to bust up Tony Stark's house, Tony Stark was going to have something to say about it. 

~oOo~

Loki's first thought, when he saw the elder Loki leave cover, shouting for Doom, was nearly identical to Tony's: _This is not the time to begin to fight like Thor!_

Although, really, the little he had told them of his assault on Midgard in the other reality suggested a reckless disregard for his own safety. Or anyone else's, although that was hardly pertinent to the current situation, since Loki himself had volunteered and Tony was in the precarious safety of the furthest bedroom. 

Well, if one of them was going to fight like a berserker, it had better be two, otherwise the other Loki would be killed or disabled and then all would be lost. 

_Engage the enemy more closely,_ he reminded himself, and uncoiled to his feet. 

He promptly took fire from the Doombots, cast a blocking spell to defend himself and sent two of his adversaries tumbling out the broken window. They reappeared almost immediately, or perhaps these were two different Doombots-- it mattered little-- and flew back in firing their blasters. 

Loki pivoted, trying to cover the other Loki, who appeared to have no thought except for Doom, while still defending himself. He certainly had no intention of permitting himself to fall victim to Doom while watching the back of another Loki who appeared to have lost, if not his mind, then certainly any ability to think strategically. 

Even so, his attention was so divided that things might have gone rather badly except for a call-- in a faint but damnably familiar voice-- of,

"Loki! Behind you!"

Loki whirled in time to see Tony fire his large chest repulsor at two Doombots, with the result that both bots disintegrated into sparking bits of metal and Tony, apparently unable to cope with the recoil, toppled straight over onto his back on the floor. 

That should have looked a great deal more amusing than it did. If they got out of this alive, Loki thought vaguely, he would definitely tease Tony about it. For the moment he simply noted that Tony was able to move his arms and fire energy beams from his gloves, and returned to his more immediate problem-- just in time to deflect most of a blast that still sent him staggering. The Doombot that fired it went down under a flare of green magic, but was replaced by two more. 

_This was perhaps not my best plan,_ Loki acknowledged as he dodged. If he had been concerned about the Lokis' joint ability to defeat Doom's magic, he was even less convinced they could take on the sorcerer and dozens of his minions. On the other hand, here they were. 

He had just spun to fire at a cluster of Doombots bearing down on Tony when Annie blinked into sight in the middle of the room holding Scamp, tossed the dog into the nearest cluster of Doombots, then gestured at the nearest sofa and used it to swat several others out of the air. 

"What are you doing here?" Loki shouted. 

"Helping!" Annie responded, sending the sofa spinning through the air, collecting Doombots as it flew and propelling them into the walls. Meanwhile, Scamp expanded into the roaring black Grim, seized a bot in her ghostly jaws, and shook it as mortal dogs shook their favourite chew toys. Bits of bot pinged off the ceiling and remaining furniture as Scamp spat out the remains and snatched another from the air.

There being only one sensible response to all this, Loki replied, 

"Thank you!" and returned his attention to his own share of the battle. 

~oOo~

Steve looked around just as Annie vanished. "Wait, where's she going? Annie!" he shouted uselessly after her. 

"Too late," Mitchell said helpfully. "She's gone back to join Loki."

"She thinks that's where the Doombots are going," George added. 

"She's probably right," Natasha agreed, without looking up from her gunsight. 

"Should we call Tony?" Steve asked, returning most of his own attention to firing. "Tell him to focus their attention on his tower?"

"They're not _all_ going to Tony's tower," Natasha replied grimly. "And we can't leave the rest of the city undefended-- "

"Make a sweep around that way," Bruce called out suddenly, with a savage grin that looked weird on his face but progressively less so as he shifted from Bruce to Hulk. "Get me as close to Stark Tower as you can."

"Roger," came the voice of the pilot, who was no fool, and he banked around hard. A few seconds later Bruce had waited as long as he could. Roaring, he hurtled out the back hatch and fell into the night. 

~oOo~

Annie didn't know exactly what she'd been expecting to come back to, but a room full of wreckage and Doombots, Bruce Springsteen howling from the speakers above their heads, wasn't it. Having one power that was useful in this context, Annie went ahead and used it. She had no idea what Loki felt like when he cast magic, but if it was anything like as satisfying as the feeling of clobbering bad guys with a big piece of furniture, it was pretty bloody good. 

She hadn't been sure Scamp, who had been turned into a Grim to defend a graveyard from supernatural dangers, would have any effect on the mechanical Doombots, but she'd hoped that if the dog could get her jaws on Doom she'd have an effect on _him._ Doom was nowhere to be seen in the confusion, but it turned out the Grim (Annie found it hard to think of this form as Scamp, any more than they thought of the Hulk as Bruce) was perfectly capable of mauling a machine if she considered it a threat. 

Annie had the impression that Doombots could sense a certain level of magic, but they gave no sign of being able to focus on either her or the Grim. They blasted furiously at the flying sofa and their mangled peers, but Annie found she could move around freely, using her poltergeist powers to pick up bits of wreckage and sling them at the Doombots. 

And then it occurred to her-- she was able to influence non-living things, yeah? 

And the Doombots weren't, in fact, alive...

~oOo~

Loki was extremely startled when one of the Doombots suddenly turned on its fellows, arms outstretched and blasters firing from its hands. And then he had a moment of feeling very silly indeed when he saw Annie's expression of concentration and realized who was responsible for this turn of events. Never let it be said that Annie was not a tactical thinker. Loki reached out with a tendril of magic, wrapped it around a pair of bots, and dragged them into range of Annie's bot. A moment later all three were smoking heaps of metal. 

"Nice work!" Tony cheered faintly from the floor, continuing to fire. A bot advanced on him, firing, and then fell face forward a few feet away as the supine Iron Man blasted it. 

The room was smoky and disordered, but considerably less crowded than it had been only a moment before. Loki was just allowing himself to hope they had turned the tide when Doom stepped out from wherever he had concealed himself and sent out his magical call for reinforcements. 

Loki cursed, but what burst through the broken windows next was not a fresh wave of Doombots. 

It was the Hulk. 

~oOo~

Annie felt like cheering when she saw who else had come to the party, and she swatted a couple of Doombots his way, just to make him feel welcome. The desire to cheer went away in a hurry when she caught sight of the older Loki, who was staring, face bone-white, and seemed to be frozen in place.

Now, granted Hulk was a pretty intimidating sight, particularly if you were corporeal and vulnerable to being grabbed by him. And even the Avengers were careful around him in battle. Still, at the moment the Hulk was completely focused on the flying bots and certainly wasn't posing an immediate threat to this Loki or any of the rest of them. Older-Loki knew Hulk was on their side, and when you considered all the other more immediate dangers it seemed odd for him to be so completely focused on _this_ one.

Although… it did occur to her that this Loki had been captured by the other Avengers, and when he appeared in the lounge of the pink house he looked like he'd been trampled by rhinoceroses. And that was _before_ he encountered Loki's Patronus rhino in the street outside the mosque. There were, of course, all sorts of ways Loki could have been badly injured while fighting the Othervengers, but being smashed by the Hulk was certainly one of them. 

And also, now she thought about it-- and as she thought it she started to move-- it was probably a very bad idea for Loki to just stand there in plain sight like this. It put him in danger from the Doombots, of course. But it also wasn't a good idea to present himself as a target to the Hulk. _Bruce_ certainly didn't want to hurt either of the Lokis, but Annie wasn't totally confident Hulk shared the same opinion-- or rather, whether Hulk cared very much _who_ he smashed, so long as he was smashing _something._ Which was why the other Avengers were careful with him in the first place. 

As she reached the older Loki, Annie reached up to place her cold hand on the side of his neck, which generally got _her_ Loki's attention. It worked this time as well: Loki jumped, blinked, and seemed to remember where he was. 

He also remembered that the most important question was not "where am I?" but "where is Doom?" And Doom was just disappearing again, vanishing through the glass doors to the rooftop terrace. Either he was chickening out, or he was hoping to lure his enemies outside. Annie strongly suspected the second option, but what else were they supposed to do? The older Loki immediately went in pursuit, dodging the wreckage of Doombots and apparently trying to pretend the Hulk wasn't there. 

Across the room, Annie also saw that her Loki had spotted Doom. He started after him, then hesitated, looking at her. 

Annie waved him on. "Go! We've got this!" As if to back up her claim, Hulk swatted several Doombots into the wall. The Grim clamped down on another and shook it to pieces, while Tony blasted away at several others. "We're fine!" Annie added optimistically. 

Loki made a helpless gesture, blasted a final Doombot, and ran after the other two. 

~oOo~

The delay had taken only a moment, but when he stepped out on the terrace the other two had vanished. Heart thumping, Loki looked around, while behind him in the sounds of battle seemed curiously muffled. Far more clearly, he heard the voice from JARVIS's speakers singing, _"The dogs on Main Street howl/ 'Cause they understand…"_

Belatedly realizing the tactical folly of standing outlined in the lighted doorway, Loki stepped hastily to one side, then ventured further into the darkness. Like all Tony's dwellings, his home in the tower was enormous, and the terrace itself seemed the size of a small park. There was a landing pad for Tony when he arrived in his suit, and well separated from it were the areas intended for rest and recreation. Loki made his way in that direction, stopping when he heard voices. 

~oOo~

Doom stood at the edge of the terrace like a beast brought to bay. Loki was not fool enough to lower his guard-- like any creature at bay, Doom was exceedingly dangerous, and even if he did not attack he might choose to simply vanish. If that happened Loki would have to go after him, and he knew that might end very badly. 

Fortunately, Doom seemed to suffer from the fatal flaw, apparently common in maddened evil sorcerers, of being unable to quit the field of battle without making a speech of some sort. Loki recalled the urge in himself, although of course in his case he had been at least partly under compulsion, and his speechifying part of the larger strategy of focusing the attention of the Avengers upon himself. 

Which could, of course, be Doom's plan now: draw Loki into debate and then strike or flee while his enemy was distracted. Part of Loki, the part that had studied tactics, knew this perfectly well. Another part was of his mind knew equally well that he would certainly fall into the trap, because if Doom made speeches at him, he would be unable to stop himself answering. 

He found himself hoping the other Loki would appear soon. Quite apart from tactical considerations, Loki was tired of facing such situations alone. 

"Last chance," Doom's taunting voice broke the silence between them. 

"I beg your pardon?" Loki replied, raising on eyebrow and hoping he looked merely alert rather than desperately tense. 

Returning to his normal mode of speech, Doom clarified: "Join me. This is your last chance. You cannot possibly believe these humans, these Avengers, wish to use you for anything more than their own advantage. Yes, my invitation has advantages to me, of course it does-- but there are also advantages to you. You would be using your powers as they were meant to, with no one to stay you, and only a being of equal power to consult." 

Loki was a practiced and talented lair of centuries' standing, and one of his skills was in spotting the lies of others. He was interested, in an offhand way, to note the only lie in this last speech came when Doom uttered the words "being of equal power." He did not believe Loki was at all an equal, which might only reflect Doom's believe in his own supremacy. Perhaps he respected Loki as much as he was capable of respecting anyone.

For what that was worth-- which, as Loki had reason to know, was little indeed. Little, and wholly dependent on the whims and wishes of the one making the offer. It had taken him a very long time to learn that lesson. 

Somewhere behind him, in the chaos of battle, he could still hear the song, 

_"Blow away the dreams that tear you apart_  
_Blow away the dreams that break your heart_  
_Blow away the lies that leave you nothing_  
_But lost and broken-hearted--"_

Indeed. _Do not worry,_ Loki mentally addressed the curiously insightful human. _I am past falling for such stale old tricks._

"'Consult'?" he replied, smiling faintly. "So I would be treated as a true ally? No more dungeons?" Without waiting for Doom to explain away the dungeon incident-- possibly he was intelligent enough not to try-- Loki went on, "You have no idea how tired I am of conversations such as this-- _fight with me, join me, ally yourself to me--_ really, at least the Mad Titan made no pretense of any benefit to me when he demanded the use of my power."

"And what of those with whom you now ally yourself?" Doom spat. "What makes you believe they will not turn on you when it suits them?"

Loki paused. "Do you know," he said thoughtfully, "I rather think it is because I have decided for myself to trust them. As I have concluded it would be the height of folly for me to trust _you."_

Doom snarled-- mask or no mask it was perfectly possible to read his expression, and now the emotions that emanated from him were entirely honest: anger, frustration, spite. Loki smiled: these emotions he understood. The only remaining question was whether Doom would express them in violence, or would-- 

\-- As the thought began, Loki felt Doom's magic shift in a way that felt like… motion. _He means to escape_ passed through Loki's mind, and if he did there was no telling where he might appear next or what he might do. Doom's magical gesture was quick, but so was Loki's reaction. He reached out with magic of his own and did the sorcerous equivalent of wrapping it around Doom's ankles. Doom fought back, twisting and striking out. 

Without really thinking about it, Loki shouted, 

"Loki! _Help!"_

~oOo~

Loki was not sure why he stopped and then retreated so as to let the other Loki converse with Doom. At one time in his life he would have been hoping to listen, to gather some intelligence he could use in his own favour or as a weapon against another. He was no longer quite so inclined that way, at least when actual enemies were not involved. In this case, of course, Doom _was_ an enemy, but still he had the peculiar feeling that he should not intrude. That perhaps rushing to interfere might persuade the other Loki he was not trusted after all. Such a conclusion would be a tactical disaster, but more than that, the elder Loki deserved to say what he needed to say, without well-meant interruption. Unless, of course, more Doombots arrived or--

The cry for help was completely unexpected. Fortunately the distance to be covered was short and he arrived almost at once, to find the elder Loki engaged in a magical wrestling match with Doom. 

"Don't let him escape!" the elder Loki ordered, face set with the effort of holding on. Loki cast an enchantment, magic flashing green on the top of the low wall that enclosed the terrace, fencing them in. The last of the power he had carried from London went into that enclosure, leaving him dependent once again on his own resources. 

The elder Loki released Doom, who took a stumbling step forward and made a curious gesture that ended in one of frustration. These were easy to interpret: he had tried to flee-- although he would certainly never use that word-- was thwarted by the magical barrier, and was now realizing he could not get through it. He was trapped. Remembering the dungeon in Castle Doom, Loki felt a savage little flare of pleasure in his chest. Not only the worm, but also the tables, had turned.

And if _he_ felt such glee at the thought, imagine the other Loki's emotions. 

There was, perhaps, only one small problem: Doom was indeed trapped in the circle of magic, but they were likewise trapped with him. Doom's posture as he turned to face them made it very clear he had also grasped this point. It crossed Loki's mind that an individual with any sense at all would be frightened. He was not. After all this, they were about to come to grips with Doom, and all he felt was the keenest anticipation. 

He glanced sideways at the other Loki, and could not decide whether he was reassured or rather alarmed to see the other's expression. A faint smile played on his lips as he studied Doom, and murmured,

 _"The dogs on Main Street howl_  
_'Cause they understand…"_

Before Loki could identify the source of the words, or fear this strange utterance was symptomatic of some sort of mental breakdown, the elder Loki looked at him and extended a hand. 

Loki reached out and grasped it. 

Depleted of London's loaned magic he might be, thrown back on his own resources, but Loki had power still. 

And so had Loki. 

And they had, between them, enough to conjure a spell to defend against evil. Loki could feel the elder allowing him to take the lead. There was a flash of green from their joined hands. 

A moment later, between themselves and Doom, lowering her head and flourishing her great curved horn, stood an enormous female rhinoceros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** I really, really wanted to finish up with Doom in this chapter, but it's taken so long to get here that I think I will stop here and give Doom time to consider the situation. I figure there are two, perhaps three chapters left. So we should be done by next Labour Day at the latest! ***


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** _Hey everyone-- we're nearly finished here. There will be one final chapter to wrap things up. And I finished this one in the nick of time because I expect in the next few days to be adding a new puppy to my family. He is, as Stephen Maturin might say, the beautiful puppy of the world, and if you're interested I'm still Coneycat over on Tumblr and I will probably be posting lots of pictures of little Senna there. In the meantime, here's a chapter. And thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for your goodwill and patience as I wrestled this story to the ground. There's lots about it that could be improved upon, but its readers are not one of those things!_

As the helicarrier flew toward the American coast, all units were on high alert. That included medical. As a civilian Nina probably should not have been allowed to stay, and in fact one of the minor uniforms did try to make her leave, but she had spent too long as a charge nurse in a major hospital to be pushed around. It also helped that Dunlap turned out to be a fairly high-ranking medical officer, so after the rest of the staff got over the surprise of his "return from Moscow" they accepted his order that Nina was another of their British consultants, assigned to this station.

"That was lucky," Nina noted in an undertone. "I suppose they think I know a lot more about magic than I actually do?"

"Apparently," Dunlap replied, also very quietly. "It's particularly lucky that I seem to be a lot more senior in this reality than I am back in the other one." Looking at her thoughtfully, he added, "How are you?" 

"Well, my boyfriend's a werewolf," Nina replied, grimly flippant. "Or at least, he was my boyfriend. I'm not sure what he is now. Also, his housemates are a vampire, a ghost, and a magical alien. Apart from all that I'm fine. Wait, did you know that already? I've lost track of who knows what around here."

"I must have missed the werewolf part," Dunlap replied, in the perfectly calm tones of someone who is not only fully prepared to believe six impossible things before breakfast, but has expanded the allotment to include a nearly unlimited number of impossible things by tea time. "And I must confess, I never would have spotted him as one. Interesting reality you have here. Incidentally, is John Lennon still alive?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" Nina replied. She waited a beat as Dunlap brightened visibly and then, with only a twinge of remorse, yanked the rug out from under him. "No, sorry. He's dead here, too. And George Harrison. And two of _my_ George's housemates as well, apparently. I did wonder why Annie showed up so suddenly and then never seemed to go home."

Dunlap raised an eyebrow. _"Your_ George," he echoed. "That certainly sounds like he's still your boyfriend." 

Nina blinked, her face going suddenly vulnerable with surprise. "I… I suppose it does," she admitted. Then she looked grim again. "Although if we all get out of this alive, we are going to have a Very Serious Talk." The capital letters were evident in her tone, and Dunlap decided not to press the matter. 

"Right, well, let's concentrate on all getting out alive, shall we? Those of us who were alive to begin with, at least," he said briskly, and turned to work in earnest. 

~oOo~

Rhodey had been too busy to be aware of Tony's disappearance, but he did notice the Doombot herd thinning out. It crossed his mind to wonder whether the good guys were winning, or the Doombots were being called away somewhere else. DC, for example. 

Also, he had no idea where everyone else was, or if they were even still out there and so-- with a little trepidation-- he called in to ask. 

"JARVIS, what's our status?" he asked. Instead of the immediate response he was expecting, there was a moment's worth of silence in his helmet. More sharply, he demanded, "JARVIS, where is everyone?"

This time JARVIS responded, sounding uncharacteristically harried. "I apologize, sir. Thor is currently harrying Doombots to your east, and the Quinjet has engaged a group of them near Stark Tower."

"And where's Tony?" Rhodey demanded, noting the omission. 

"He is uninjured, but was forced down at Stark Tower, where he, the Lokis, and Annie are engaged in battle with Dr. Doom and a large force of Doombots."

Which probably explained why the flock was thinning. 

Even as the thought crossed Rhodey's mind, the Doombots he was approaching turned away and headed off in the direction of Stark Tower. 

"Let Tony and the others know I'll be there shortly," Rhodey told JARVIS.

"Yes, sir."

~oOo~

Inside the arena of magic nobody moved except the rhinoceros, and all she did was flick her tail. The moment of stillness lengthened and stretched, and then Doom made to step forward. 

The rhinoceros lowered her head, shook it, and emitted a violent snort. To the younger Loki it sounded like the sort of snort a horse gives when expressing deepest alarm, and possibly the wish to expel its brain through its nostrils in order to render it lighter when it runs away. As a horseman Loki never liked to hear that kind of snort from his mount, given that it was generally a herald of an uncontrollable overreaction to something. He was not entirely happy to hear it from his Patronus spell, even considering the size of the now-enclosed terrace-- as a creature related to horses, it seemed possible rhinoceroses were prone to the same sort of panicky stampeding, and panicky stampeding horses were not renowned for watching where they were going or noticing who was in their way.

On the other hand, since this was a magical, rather than real, rhinoceros, he optimistically decided she would probably not trample either of the Lokis while dealing with the menace she had been conjured to face. 

Probably. 

Doom, to give him credit, did not concede defeat. Possibly this was not really to his credit-- it struck Loki as likely that, like the knight in the Holy Grail movie, Doom would carry on fighting, or at any rate blustering, even after all his limbs had been lopped off. 

Not, of course, that Loki had designs on Doom's limbs. Although when he glanced at the other Loki's set face…

"Oh, well done. You have trapped me, but also yourselves," Doom taunted, or rather Doom stated the obvious in a derisive tone. "I could kill you both, and do you really think this creature can stop me?" This time he did step forward. 

The rhinoceros snorted again and jerked up her head, turning it just enough to regard Doom out of her right eye. As he moved to one side, she pivoted neatly on her forehand, keeping herself, or at least her rump, between Doom and the Lokis. When Doom made to step sideways, she moved with him, snorting again and now lowering her head. 

"Do you know," Loki said conversationally, "I rather think she can."

Doom snarled and hurled a red bolt of magic at the rhinoceros. She uttered the screaming bellow common to her kind, slung her head sideways, and batted the blast aside. It struck the green of the enclosing magic and rebounded back toward them. His magic fully engaged in maintaining the barrier and the rhinoceros, Loki ducked. The other Loki returned fire, and the outline of the rhinoceros wavered slightly. 

"Stop!" Loki hissed, with a gesture that rather resembled George's flappy hands. The other Loki frowned, apparently in sudden puzzlement, then dropped to the ground as another bolt of magic passed over his head. "What?"

"It has just occurred to me," the elder Loki replied, getting up on his hands and knees and keeping his eyes on Doom, "it has been some time since I have heard George's voice quibbling in my mind." At another red blast, both of them ducked again, holding tight to the magical barrier. 

"Do you really think George would have any objections to our using whatever means necessary to stop this menace?" Loki demanded, and seized the other Loki by the arm, dragging him backwards. The rhinoceros also backed up, keeping herself between Doom and the two Lokis as they retreated.

Doom prowled forward, laughing now, advancing toward them. To his left was a screen of shrubbery, dividing Iron Man's landing pad from the areas where Tony and his guests could relax and gaze out over the city. 

"Look at you," Doom gibed. "Cowering behind that beast! Come out and fight like true sorcerers!" He continued to advance, and Loki continued to hold his elder's arm, dragging him backward and to their left. As they moved clockwise, and rhinoceros with them, Doom pivoted to keep them in his sight, the screen of brush now at his back. 

Loki sighed. Loudly. Ensuring Doom could hear him. 

"Von Doom," he said, in a tone of heavy patience. "You are aware that we did not import a critically endangered creature from the plains of Africa to do our bidding, yes?" The southern white rhinoceros, which this one was, was perhaps not quite so critically endangered as most other members of the family _Rhinocerotidae,_ but that was neither here nor there. Without waiting for a reply from Doom, he went on, "You _do_ realize that she is a conjuring? Not a real rhinoceros at all? And who do you suppose is in control of the conjuring?" This time he did pause, but there was no answer from Doom. As though there had been one, Loki applauded gently. "Why yes, Doom, you are correct!

_"We are!"_

Rising to his full height, Loki extended his arms and cast every bit of remaining magic into his Patronus spell. For a heartbeat, the great grey beast glowed silver.

And then she charged. 

Doom finally realized the wisdom of fleeing, but-- exactly as Loki had intended-- the shrubbery at his back slowed his retreat: he turned into it the entangling foliage and was held up. Before he could beat his way through the brush, the rhinoceros was upon him.

The original rhinoceros Patronus had been invoked to guard against aggressive vampires. That version of the spell was certainly capable of impaling someone, but it was no part of Loki's plan-- well, the younger Loki's plan-- to serve Doom in anything like this manner. He was not sentimental, but the international fuss attendant on the death of the ruler of Latveria would be most inconvenient. 

Therefore, instead of turning Doom into a giant canape on an oversized toothpick, the rhinoceros simply scooped him up, balancing him on her nose with the enormous horn holding him in place as she carried him through the brush at tremendous speed. As they vanished from sight, the Lokis could hear that Doom had quite lost his composure: the sound of his cursing nearly drowned out the crashing and the music that still poured from JARVIS's speakers. 

At this moment JARVIS apparently decided it was time for another change of soundtrack, as above their heads came the sound of another aggressive guitar, and the manic voice of Paul McCartney wailing, 

_"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide_  
_Where I stop and I turn around and go for a ride_  
_'Til I get to the bottom and I see you agaaaaaaain,_  
_Yeah, yeah, yeah."_

Loki felt a savage smile break over his features. 

"Thank you, JARVIS," he said, "this is perfect." He turned to the elder Loki. "Shall we?"

The two of them set off in pursuit.

~oOo~

Perhaps understandably, it had been some considerable time since Loki had found anything really funny. And it was true, the current source of his amusement was rather cruel. Given the example Annie, and of course George, had been setting for him all this time, he supposed he should probably feel ashamed of himself.

He did not, and he did not care, he just wanted to laugh. Hard. Viciously. And as far as he could tell, George's voice within him had no opinion about the matter one way or the other. At any rate, for the moment it remained quiet. 

Well, for a moment Loki thought he could hear something at the edge of his consciousness giggling quietly, but he had not time to really pay attention.

It was of course far easier for the Lokis to make their way through the shrubbery than it had Doom: the rhinoceros had trampled down the brush and all they had to do was follow the path she had broken. They were therefore in time to see the rhinoceros swerve like a horse intent on losing her rider, drop her outside shoulder, and deposit Doom ungracefully on the ground. 

The sorcerer rolled to his feet and, proving he was in some ways a slow learner, blasted at the rhinoceros again. As the red flare hit her she let out the same high-pitched screaming bellow her fellow had uttered in the street outside the pink house, pawed the ground furiously-- and got bigger. 

_"I'm comin' down fast but I'm miles above you,"_ the voice above their heads screamed, and the rhinoceros charged. Doom threw himself to one side and rolled, tangling himself in his cape as he thrashed to his feet. The rhinoceros sat back over her hocks and planted her forefeet, plowing up the grass as she slid to a halt, and then, hind end still tucked well under, rolled back over her haunches and once again charged toward Doom. 

_"Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer"_ proclaimed the voice from above. Watching the peculiar grace with which the rhinoceros pushed off her hindquarters and surged toward her enemy, Loki found himself unable to agree. He reached out with a touch of magic, just the smallest of shoves, and the rhinoceros hooked Doom with her great forehorn, flirted her gigantic head, and threw him halfway across the terrace.

Loki was beginning to understand the other Loki's affection for these creatures. 

Doom hit the ground tumbling, and this time he was slower to get to his feet. This time, too, as the rhinoceros snorted defiance, Loki did hear a rebuking voice. 

It was not George's, however. George still seemed to have no opinion on the fate of Doom. It was the younger Loki who cast a warning sideways glance and remarked, 

"We are not trying to kill him."

Loki grinned. "Speak for yourself." 

_"Helter skelter, helter skelter."_

Doom wobbled to his feet and the rhinoceros charged again. 

~oOo~

Thor had remembered to connect himself to Tony's communications network before the mission, but it must be admitted that up to this point he had but little interest in conversation. The task before them was obvious, necessary, and a considerable relief to his feelings, so he smashed Doombots with a will, taking what care he could to ensure the fragments did as little damage as possible to the city below. 

He did, however, hear JARVIS's explanation to Rhodey of what had befallen Tony, and of the Doombots' arrival at Stark Tower. He knew his duty, of course, but as it happened his duty suddenly coincided with his inclinations, as the Doombots near him changed course and flew purposefully off, all in the same direction. It was not difficult to surmise where they were bound. Apparently, Thor thought, Doom had need of reinforcements. 

Apparently, it had not occurred to Doom that if he called all his Doombots to himself, he was necessarily also calling the Avengers to that location as well. Thor held a certain reluctant esteem for Doom's ability as a sorcerer, but he could not admire him as a tactician.

Doom's strategic lapses were not, of course, any of Thor's concern. Indeed, Thor could admit his own strengths were not necessarily in that line, either. His own preference echoed that of the Midgardian admiral, Lord Nelson, at least as described in a film about the Royal Navy he had watched with the rest of the Avengers: one character had described Nelson's attitude to battle as "never mind the maneuvers, just go straight at 'em."

Admirable advice, so far as Thor was concerned. Accordingly, he set a course toward Stark Tower, batting a few Doombots out of his way, for luck, as he did, and went straight at 'em.

~oOo~

In close quarters with the Hulk, Annie was having trouble keeping track of how many Doombots they had smashed compared with how many there were left. She did know that her own part in the battle was due to end quite soon: she was running out of furniture to clobber bots with, and had long since stopped wincing every time she broke something expensive over a mechanical head. Tony's lounge was filled with metal wreckage, the guts of sofas, wooden and glass shards, and smoke. Somewhere behind her she could hear Tony still blasting away at any bot careless enough to get within his range. It turned out at least one of the walls was fortunately not load bearing, because Hulk had brought most of it down while smashing Doombots into it. The Grim capered back and forth, bits of Doombot sticking out both sides of her jaws.

She was just beginning to hate "Helter Skelter" when JARVIS changed the soundtrack again, this time to Tony's favourite band, AC/DC. Against s skittering guitar line voices chanted, _"Thunder…. Thunder."_

"Oh good," Annie said aloud, and called over her shoulder, "I think Thor is on his way."

"Great," Tony replied, in a slightly distracted tone, as he took aim at a Doombot. He held up at the last second when the Grim snatched the bot out of the air like an Australian shepherd leaping after a Frisbee. It was really rather endearing, Annie thought. 

There was a commotion over where the windows used to be, and Tony shouted, "Hey Rhodey! You're late to the party!"

"Sorry about that, my invitation got lost in the mail," Rhodey replied as he got down to work. 

_"You've been-- Thunderstruck!"_ screeched AC/DC, just as Thor flew in to join them, accompanied by a bolt of lightning. Apparently neither Tony nor Loki had anything to teach JARVIS about dramatic timing.

Annie looked around. Deciding the Avengers had things pretty well in hand here, not to mention the fact there was nothing left but splinters for her to work with, she slipped out the doors to the terrace-- well, _door,_ the other was long gone and shattered-- to see how the Lokis were doing. 

~oOo~

Doom turned toward the rhinoceros with defiance in his heart-- but in his head there was, apart from the ringing of bells, a sense of disbelief. And inevitability. He had lost. He had rather die than admit it, but these accursed creatures had thwarted him. 

Thwarted, but not defeated. He would not stand tamely by to be captured. He could not escape from this circle of magic (and, once again, he had grudgingly to admit it: this younger, more docile Loki was a sorcerer of no mean ability.)

If he could not escape the circle, then the next course open to him was to ensure that he was not taken alive. And that no one in the circle was left alive to crow over his defeat.

Doom gathered all the power he could summon as the rhinoceros lowered its head and charged. 

~oOo~

In Washington, DC, the second set of Avengers were doing their best to keep the Doombots out over the Potomac River, hoping to avoid casualties among civilians and minimize damage to national monuments. It was Falcon who first pointed out the behaviour of their adversaries. 

"They're just flying around in circles," he called out, which was maybe not strictly true. Still, it did pretty much sum up the situation: the Avengers suddenly realized they really weren't stopping the Doombots from attacking the city, because the Doombots didn't seem all that interested in attacking the city in the first place. As soon as the Avengers showed up, all the bots' focus was on them. 

Stark summed it up. "Crap. This is a diversion. And we fell for it. JARVIS, what's going on in New York?"

~oOo~

Loki could feel the shift in Doom's magic in the split second before the rhinoceros hit him. Instead of pushing outward, as it had when he called the Doombots, the magic seemed to rush inwards, filling Doom with--

\--Loki blinked. The sensation felt similar to the one he had felt when, as a dragon, he had felt his own anger swelling within his chest, to be converted into--

 _Doom intended to blow them all up._ He had only time for the flash of recognition, of realization. He reached for whatever magic he could, letting go of the barrier because if he was correct the barrier was not only no longer useful, but would actually make matters worse: whatever magical explosion Doom intended would, if contained, not only kill everyone in the penthouse but would almost certainly then be directed downwards to take the rest of the tower down-- and half the city block with it. 

He did not have power enough left to contain the explosion by himself. As the rhinoceros once again lifted Doom with her head, Loki turned his head to call on the elder Loki to assist him, but even as he opened his mouth he knew there was no time for explanations. 

~oOo~

As she ran toward Doom and the Lokis-- or rather toward the crashing sounds she assumed were coming from their position-- Annie suddenly realized she wasn't alone. The Grim bore almost no resemblance to the small, cuddly form of Scamp, but in both forms she was deeply attached to Annie, and when Annie had run outside her vast spectral dog (which sounded like something Loki would say, and that seemed perfectly appropriate when you considered what they were describing) had, as dogs will, run after her so as not to miss out on anything. 

Also as dogs are, she was attracted to the sounds of activity in front of them, bounding ahead to see what was going on.

~oOo~

The southern white rhinoceros, as the younger Loki would happily explain, at length, to anyone showing an interest (or merely willing to hold still for the explanation), is indeed a member of the family _Rhinocerotidae,_ which encompasses all the one- and two-horned rhinoceroses. More broadly, the rhinoceroses belong to the order _Perissodactyla,_ the odd-toed ungulates, which order consists of two other families in addition to _Rhinocerotidae:_ _Tapiridae,_ the five species of tapirs, and _Equidae,_ all the horses and related species such as zebras and asses.

The southern white rhinoceros in particular is a social species, unlike the more solitary black rhinoceros, and as such is a little less inclined to respond to a startling event by immediately charging it. Perhaps this tendency is useful in avoiding misunderstandings between herd mates. 

Perhaps the conjured rhinoceros had a sense of how to usefully respond to the different magical influences surrounding her.

Perhaps, having been conjured by the younger Loki, she retained a trace of his sense of humour, as well as his flair for the dramatic.

Whatever the reason, when the great black blazing-eyed fiend emerged roaring from the underbrush, the rhinoceros reacted exactly as her equine relations would have done: she spooked violently, swerving and capering sideways, once again flattening a decorative hedge that happened to be in her path. 

Neither Loki could take any credit at all for what happened next, because neither Loki was familiar enough with this residence of Tony's to know much about the landscape of the terrace. 

In particular, neither of them had any idea that Tony had a swimming pool. 

~oOo~

Doom was seldom distracted in his efforts to cast magic, but the appearance of the spectral dog, and its effect on the rhinoceros, was indeed startling. 

More surprising still was the sudden shock of cold water as the rhinoceros tumbled into a pool, taking Doom with her. Weighed down by his armour, once again tangled in his cape, and pushed underwater by the thrashing weight of the rhinoceros, Doom lost his concentration at the vital moment. His gathered magic dissipated, emitting only power enough to cause the surface of the pool to steam for a moment. 

~oOo~

Owing to their conformation, specifically the great hump on the back of their necks, southern white rhinoceroses cannot lift their heads above a certain level, and are quite unable to swim. Knowing this, Loki's first action when he arrived at the edge of the pool was to dismiss his conjuring: the sight of even a supernatural rhinoceros in such a predicament was upsetting to him. 

The sight of Doom bobbing up coughing and spluttering was another matter entirely. Again, Loki had no intention of permitting him to drown, but it is possible he might have allowed Doom to sink a time or two before attempting to fish him out. 

Before he could offer to do so the Grim had also arrived. She reached the edge of the pool and without hesitation leaped into the water, generating a splash that rivalled the rhino's, and swam toward Doom to seize his shoulder in her slavering jaws. She then turned back toward the edge of the pool, towing the spent, drenched, and thoroughly defeated villain with her. Employing perhaps a little of her own supernatural powers, she surged from the water, depositing Doom at the feet of Annie, who had by now caught up to her pet. 

Doom tried to stand, failed, and sat down hard as the Grim energetically shook herself. The extra shower of water that cascaded over him seemed to dampen his spirits even further. Annie, who of course could not be soaked, took a step forward. Looking down at Doom, she uttered the classic line of the television copper:

"You're pinched, mate." 

The Lokis ran around the pool to join Annie, but as they arrived at her side there was a whirl of another, alien magic. It resolved itself into a vertically spinning disc of light, or perhaps flame. 

Out of it stepped a dapper cloaked figure whose facial hair was even more impeccably groomed than Tony's. 

"I'll take it from here," said Dr. Stephen Strange. 

~oOo~

In Washington, DC, the Othervengers' adventure came to an abrupt end as all around them Doombots spontaneously combusted. As he watched the sizzling fragments fall into the Potomac below, Stark made a mental note to tell his counterpart that cleanup would be needed. 

"What in hell just happened?" he demanded over the com link.

~oOo~

Loki raised his eyebrows at Strange, but Annie spoke first. 

"It's about bloody time you turned up," she snapped. "Agent Coulson has been looking for you for _days."_

Strange smiled. There was actually nothing supercilious about the smile, but it neither mollified Annie nor made Loki feel less like punching the man in the stomach. 

"Oh," Strange said mildly, "I was quite confident you would be able to handle the situation yourselves. And," here he glanced at the elder Loki, "it seemed like a good idea to permit you to do so."

The elder Loki raised his chin slightly and looked exactly as if he was trying not to look self-conscious. 

"None of this changes what went on before," he pointed out. 

Strange smiled again, still with unexpected warmth. 

"True. But it probably has changed what happens next." He nodded to the Lokis, made Annie a little bow, and casually ruffled the Grim's hackles. "If you will excuse me," he said, and extended a hand. Doom rose dripping into the air and was propelled ahead of him-- rather like the unconscious Snape in _Prisoner of Azkaban_ \-- through the glowing portal. 

Just before he followed Doom, Strange paused and looked back at Annie. 

"When you see Agent Coulson, tell him to check his phone," he suggested. 

~oOo~

Inside Tony's penthouse, the last few Doombots had an action-packed final few minutes. Thor threw himself prone over Tony, shielding him from flying shrapnel as the bots exploded. Since JARVIS had hastily closed the suit's mask as soon as he realized what was going on, Thor's gesture probably wasn't necessary, but it was kindly meant. 

Across the room, Rhodey hastily evaded the startled and enraged Hulk. 

"Hey JARVIS, I think it's time for a change of soundtrack," Tony called. "How about something a little less smashy-smashy, okay buddy?"

AC/DC fell silent just as Annie, Scamp, and the Lokis came back in from the terrace. 

"Where's Doom?" Rhodey asked, landing and opening his mask. 

The younger Loki gestured tiredly. 

"Safe. Dealt with. I will explain in a moment."

"Sure," said Rhodey, continuing to keep a wary eye on the Hulk, who had paused to look at the newcomers. The elder Loki looked suddenly apprehensive, but Annie and her little black dog walked over to him. 

"Hi, Hulk," she said brightly. "You did a super job here!"

"Hulk smash," Hulk explained, getting smaller and less green as he spoke. 

"You certainly did," Annie agreed. 

Thor got to his feet, leaned over and manhandled Tony upright. Tony's facemask opened and he took a step forward-- then promptly pitched backward, banged into one of the remaining walls, and slid into a seated position. 

"Think I might stay here for a minute," he decided. The younger Loki, pale and a little wobbly from his recent magical exertions, eased himself down the wall to sit beside Tony. Annie and then, after a wary glance at Bruce, the other Loki sat down with them. 

"That sounds like a very good idea," he agreed, just as JARVIS decided upon appropriate music for the occasion. 

_"What would you think if I sang out of tune?_  
_Would you stand up and walk out on me?_  
_Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song_  
_And I'll try not to sing out of key._  
_Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends--"_

Loki smiled at the ceiling. "Thank you, JARVIS," he said.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Annie and Loki(s)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448950) by [WoodeSeren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodeSeren/pseuds/WoodeSeren)




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